


Lovers In A Dangerous Time

by ThroughTime



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: (Smut starts at chapter 10 if you must know), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 94,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughTime/pseuds/ThroughTime
Summary: When her husband is offered a job in South Carolina, Claire Randall unwittingly leaves her successful medical career behind in London. What she thought would be a couple of months off to get things settled turns into nearly a year of floating around yacht parties and cocktail hours like an accessory on Frank's arm, hosting dinner parties she dreaded and being subtly spoken down to by the very man who's ring she wore. Just when the purposeless mundanity of her life as a bona fide Southern Socialite begins to truly sink in, two little girls move into the house next door, bringing sunshine back to her doorstep, and along with it their father.Inspired by Lovers In A Dangerous Time by The Barenaked Ladies, who I really do love, unironically.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Frank Randall, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Geillis Duncan/Louise de La Tour
Comments: 1826
Kudos: 799





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My writing game is rusty at best but quarantine has some Jamie/Claire ideas swimming in my mind, so bear with me. I welcome any and all feedback!

**M** oving to the states had not been Claire’s idea. Though she’d traveled almost constantly as a child, she always had a soft spot for London. She loved the smell after the rain, and there was something in the fog that remained stubbornly settled over the city that felt like an extension of herself. South Carolina, with its clear skies and annual low of _52_ _degrees_ was another world entirely, one that she wasn’t particularly keen to find her place in. But when Frank was offered a high ranking position within the historical society, that was simply that. A decision was reached the second he hung up the phone.

She’d arrived with a plan to contact the state licensing board as soon as possible (once everything was settled) to begin the process of obtaining a license to practice medicine in the states. What Frank had failed to mention were the expectations placed upon a _The Museum Curator's Wife_ —or rather, the expectations that _he_ had decided upon for _his_ wife upon taking his new position.

“How could you keep up a career as a physician when you’ve already got so many obligations?” he had asked her when he found her one evening in her home office looking longingly over her credentials from the UK.

So this was it, her new so-called career. She was to be seen and known in the Charleston social scene, to meet the right people at philanthropy events and cocktail parties. To keep an impressive and pristine home and act the part of the gracious, flawless yet _miraculously_ effortless hostess. And most importantly, to look like she was enjoying the hell out of it.

She felt like an accessory. Despite the constant sunshine and gorgeous weather, days spent on the water with free flowing champagne and large brimmed hats, Claire remained sullen. She managed to keep up the act, but that was exactly what it was. Even her marriage had turned into a markup of the actions, a peck on the lips before they turned out the light and curled up firmly on their own sides of the bed.

Her saving grace came in the most unsuspecting of packages. In the glum fog of discovering the rhythms of her new life, Claire had neglected to notice that the house next door had been listed and purchased in short order until she saw the moving vans—a faux pas for _Mrs. Randall_ , to be sure. She added _introduction to new neighbors_ to her running mental checklist, then carried on with a full day of preparation for the wine tasting she and Frank were hosting the following evening. In fact, she had almost forgotten the mornings observation entirely until a triple knock at the front door stole her attention in the early afternoon.

The girls were small, but with bright, gap-toothed smiles that hit Claire like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. Nora and Fiona were seven and five, respectively, and carried with them a hastily put together plate of store-bought biscuits and a bouquet of flower that Claire recognized as coming from her own garden. They were introduced by the elder with pleasantly surprising Scottish brogue that immediately had their neighbors ears perked after so many months overseas. They had clearly come to make a friend, and Claire gladly invited them inside to share the treat they’d brought—having confirmed, of course, that their parents knew where they were.

**O** ver the course of the afternoon, Claire learned that they were from a town outside of Inverness and had only just moved to the states so their _Da_ could eventually take over the running of a farm owned by a relative. Nora was sociable and charming, chattering on about her lessons in piano and cello, about starting year two in the fall and asking Claire questions that were quite thoughtful for a girl her age. Fiona was slower to warm up, but once she did she proved to be quite the performer, showing Claire what she’d learned in ballet class and telling her all about the things she was going to learn in kindergarten the upcoming year. Claire hardly expected them to stay half an hour, and was surprised when, upon hearing the chimes of the doorbell reverberating throughout the foyer, that it was almost four o’clock.

She hopped up from her spot on the couch to answer it, smiling to herself as she heard the sound of the girls giggling and chatting in her absence. They really were darling children. Opening the door, she found a strikingly tall man with curling red hair and broad shoulders standing on the porch, somehow made all the more handsome by the concerned crease of his brow.

“Did ye happen to see two wee lassies runnin’ about?” He asked breathlessly. “They were playin’ in the house last I saw and now I canna seem to find them.

“Oh god, I am so sorry!” Claire blurted, her hand flying to her mouth as she flushed pink with the realization that their father had not, in fact, known where her young visitors were. “I have them here, they came over earlier to introduce themselves. They told me they’d asked for permission, otherwise I would have sent them right back, I am _so_ sorry.”

The man relaxed immediately, exhaling on a sharp chuckle and shaking his head as he penciled in a discussion about better listening for that evening. Without the flurry of concern he had arrived with, he noticed for the first time that his new neighbor was quite lovely, with big, dark brown curls and an effortless beauty about her.

_Christ_ , he thought to himself, subconsciously wiping his palms on his shorts, _I havna’ even introduced myself._

“I’m Jamie Fraser,” he said with a slightly bashful smile, taking Claire's small, soft hand in his own for a quick moment. 

“Claire Randall. I’m sorry to have unwittingly kidnapped your children,” Claire quipped with a laugh, moving back from the doorway to allow him in.

“No harm no foul,” Jamie assured her quietly as he peered into the sitting room towards the girls hushed voices. Claire watched as his body language changed, and he crept toward the couch with an additional sparkle in his already brilliant blue eyes. 

“They’re here somewhere,” she offered in a sing-song voice, sensing the game. “I just saw them, I know I did.”

Jamie caught her eye momentarily and gave her a nod, grateful to her for playing along as it would greatly lessen the chance of a meltdown from either of his daughters upon being so rudely uplifted from their play date.

“Wait just a moment, I think I hear them,” Jamie said, inching towards the couch with Claire following a few feet back. “It sounds like they’re in here, don’t ye think?”

“Oh, you might be right, I think I hear little whispers by the…sofa?”

With that, Jamie popped over the back of the couch to find his daughters lying with their heads together flat on the cushions. They dissolved into giggles and clung to his shoulders as he lifted them up and settled one bouncing girl on each hip.

“What have I told ye lasses about runnin’ off like that?” He queried in a cheerful tone, brows raised as he looked between the girls.

“Not tae do it,” Nora sighed with an eye roll to rival any teenager.

“That’s exactly what I told ye, because it scares yer auld Da! Ye can always ask me, but ye canna just go off like that.”

Claire found herself taken with watching this man with his daughters. It seemed overwhelmingly natural, and it was obvious even in the few moments she’d observed that both girls adored their father.

“Thank ye for keepin’ ‘em for the afternoon,” Jamie said, turning his attention back to Claire with a grateful smile. “I think ye’ve made yerself two new friends today, if they’ve got any say in the matter.”

“It was nothing, they’re both delightful,” Claire answered, following the trio to the door to see them out. “Really, they’re welcome any time.”

“That’s kind of ye, Claire. Say yer goodbyes, lassies.”

The girls rushed forward from Jamie’s side with a chattering of ‘nice to meet ye’ and ‘goodbye Miss Claire,’ and Claire knelt down just in time to be enveloped in a double hug. She smiled to herself and wrapped her arms around the girls, giving them a little squeeze before she stood again.

“Goodbye girls, thank you for coming by to introduce yourself,” she added as they started down the stairs off the porch, returning their waves. “Goodbye, Jamie.”

“Och, surely tis no’ a goodbye, Sassenach, we’ll be seein’ each other.”

He was gone with a nod and a lopsided smile, already jogging off to catch up with the girls before Claire could think to ask what the hell a _Sassenach_ was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy people are excited about this story, I haven't shared my writing outside of some personal stories in a long time, so thank you for the positive reception. I hope you enjoy the second chapter!

**C** laire awoke the following morning groggy from a night of fitful sleep. Rolling onto her other side, she noted the indent in Frank’s pillow and felt a little comforted. Despite rift between them, wider than ever in the wake of their relocation, she couldn’t help but feel a touch odd when he slept at his office. The house, a relic from the Antebellum South with its balconies and vaulted ceilings, was far too big for the two of them, but when faced with the echoing corridors on her own she sometimes worried it would swallow her up and no one would hear her call.

Her dressing gown swished along behind her as she padded downstairs towards the kitchen, where she could hear Frank clanging away in the cabinets in search of something. He didn’t care for fixing his own meals—or didn’t have the time, as he preferred to put it—but she hoped to whatever God may be listening that he’d just leave it be for today. She was hardly in the mood for such a stark reminder of her current position in life. 

Claire didn’t like hosting—not the way they did it here, anyway. During her university years she’d thrown a get together or two in the flat she shared with two fellow medical students, and she could even recall a few dinner parties early on after Frank had asked her to move in that were terribly enjoyable. Hosting the so-called _Southern Elite_ for wine tastings and formal dinners, however, was far from her idea of a night well spent. She found most of her new company to be dreadfully boring, self-important and snooty—making conversation at these events was akin to pulling teeth. But as disappointing as her new life had been so far, she knew better than to make the mistake of wondering how she, a _Oxford educated Doctor of Medicine_ , had found herself in the position of full time hostess and trophy wife. That line of thinking just made the days longer.

“Darling, you know I love you, but what is this hideous arrangement?” Frank greeted her in the kitchen with a look of bewilderment and the bouquet gifted from Nora and Fiona fisted in his hand, dripping onto the hardwood floor as he carried them towards the garbage.

“Don’t throw them away!” Claire crossed the kitchen quickly and rescued the flowers from her husband, shaking the excess water off over the sink. “The girls who moved next brought them yesterday.”

“Ahh, from children. Explains it,” Frank tossed off with a roll of his eyes. “Put them up somewhere for tonight, at least.”

Claire nodded, sighing under her breath as she resettled them in their vase. She’d put them in her office, where Frank wouldn’t have to set eyes on something he found so distasteful again.

**W** ithin the blur of a day spent in party preparation mode, Claire found her thoughts returning now and again to her neighbors, delighted as she was to have found herself situated so close to fellow transplants from across the pond. Funny, she noted, how the Scots seemed drawn to the Carolinas. She knew, because of Frank’s work, that they had migrated there in flocks in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but hadn’t known until she’d found herself there as well that the tradition had continued. There was a small handful of native Scots in their social circle, though she didn’t know them all too well. Geillis Duncan was her favorite, a lively, girlish woman, but with her ostensibly teeming social calendar and jet-setting ways, Claire had scarcely seen her since they’d first been introduced.

Preparations had gone smoothly for the most part, though she’d had to send the tent truck back to the warehouse not once but twice for bringing in the wrong sizes. If she thought too long about the unfortunate fact that this was the kind of thing she’d been pigeonholed into caring about she’d ruin her own day—instead, she allowed herself to entertain musings here and there on the subject of the Frasers. The children were such darlings, and it was clear they adored their father. For his part, Jamie seemed a natural with the children in the brief moment she’d been privy to, and she couldn't help but find it endearing. Attractive even, dare she say it. There was a freedom in his manner that Frank sorely lacked—but that she wouldn’t entertain. She was adjusting, simply experiencing the expected growing pains of a new situation. Perhaps now it was easier to highlight Frank’s flaws, to be irritable around him, but he was under stress as well. Things would return to normal between the two of them once everything was settled.

After fielding a call fresh out of the shower from a guest about bringing her nephew to the party, Claire tamed her hair as best she could despite the midsummer humidity hanging thick in the air, slipped into the nights attire, and began to fantasize about kicking her ungodly heels off once it was over. She found Frank in the bedroom fastening his cufflinks and wrapped her arms around his middle, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“You’re looking very sharp this evening Mr. Randall,” she murmured against the skin of his neck, pressing a kiss just above the collar of his crisp, white dress shirt.

“Why thank you, Mrs. Randall. And might I say you’re looking lovely as always.”

Pleased, Claire felt herself blush as Frank turned in her arms to face her—it sometimes seemed he didn’t have the time, or the attention, to compliment her as he once did, but it almost made it mean more when he did. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, pointedly careful not to smudge her lipstick, and held her at arms length.

“Though I do wish you could manage to make your hair look a little more…coiffed, darling.”

It was off handed, added as he stepped away to attach his other cuff link, and it stung a little. But Claire knew the pressure he was under, how desperate he was to fill the shoes left for him while carving his own distinct figure within the community. It was getting to him, that was all. She could brush it off.

**H** e hadn’t expected it, but Jamie felt oddly nervous as he stood on Jocasta’s doorstep, the sounds of her shuffling about inside just yards away. Though she was close with his mother, her sister, and they had visited plenty when he was a bairn, she’d left Scotland when he was still young after a dryer fire had burned down her family home, and took with it her husband and daughters. She’d returned but once after that, for his mother’s funeral when he was sixteen, but hardly as the woman he’d once known. She seemed darker, more tortured for her losses, and her sight had begun to go by then. His hope had always been that time would do its duty to her, but now, one the cusp of seeing her for the first time in so many years, he would get his answer.

And an answer he found; in her eyes, slightly clouded but bright and warm, and the strength which which she enveloped him. It reminded him of his Mam. She was just as formidable as she’d appeared to him as a lad, her presence bolstered by her impressive height. As he lead her to the car and they got settled, she inquired about his girls and the move, and began to fill him in on business regarding the farm in which he was now a partner. She appeared to him on the verge of some kind of contentedness.

“Have ye an address for this wee shindig?” He asked, reaching for his phone in the center console to plug in directions. When she rattled it off from memory, it took him a moment to realize that it sounded familiar because it was just a digit removed from his own. He chuckled to himself upon realizing that it was, in fact, Claire’s address, and then they were surging forward down the long cobblestone drive towards to the street, chatting away.

**C** laire knew well enough by now her duties as hostess of these kinds of events. Ensure the house was in perfect order, direct the caterers, smile and laugh—but not too loud— and now, as her familiarity with the circles in which they ran grew, she could to make the most advantageous introductions between guests. For the most part she found it to be tedious work, but for the time being it was the work she had, and she cared enough for Frank to do her due diligence.

An hour or so in, with the sun sitting low enough in the sky to bring about some much needed cool, the back gardens were teeming with guests, traipsing about the yard in florals and towering wedges, loafers and sharp, tailored chinos. Some of the women even wore the large, ostensibly fashionable hats that Claire secretly found hideously hilarious. She’d been _making the rounds_ , as Frank called it, mostly at her husband’s side, steering conversations with a gentle hand and highlighting his accomplishments. She’d never seen him quite so desperate to be liked.

The one responsibility she was not allotted was the one she’d liked most of all in her old life—answering the door, silly as it was. She had always enjoyed the excitement of it, the _who would it be_ , welcoming friends into their home and making them comfortable. But, with the scale of most things she and Frank now hosted, he had insisted they hire staff to assist with things like that, taking jackets and bags and maintaining impeccable organization for easy returns at the end of the night. Couldn’t have _The Hostess_ fumbling about in the front closet at the end of the night, now could they?

It was because of this that she had no idea how long Jamie Fraser had been in her home, or that he was even there at all, until she noticed his flaming red hair against the lush, darkening greenery of the garden. It was secured at the nape of his neck in a low ponytail with a few sparse curls hanging free against his forehead, and the bulbous lights strung end to end over the sprawling yard especially for the occasion highlighted the lighter auburn tones. She recognized the woman beside him, Jocasta Cameron, who owned one of the largest farms in the state. That must be the aunt the girls had mentioned, the one he’d come to work for. They were surrounded by a sizable circle of people, all of whom seemed to be quite engaged in whatever he was saying. It would hardly be proper for Claire to make a beeline, but she began to wander from guest to guest with him as her final location.

What she hadn’t counted on was getting trapped between two women with what she estimated to be very expensive blonde dye jobs, prattling on about their husbands and children and private preschools and, it seemed, speaking only about themselves with an undercurrent of annoyance for those husbands and children and private preschools. Just as she began glancing around more seriously for an exit she felt light tough on her arm and turned to see Jamie, with Jocasta beside him, providing just the rescue she’d been hoping for. She nodded to the women, a tight smile on her lips as she excused herself, holding back a dramatic sigh of relief as she found herself in exceedingly more pleasant company. 

“Claire, I’d like to introduce ye to my nephew, James Fraser. He’s just come from Scotland to oversee the running of Cameron Farms.”

“We’ve met, Auntie,” Jamie told her, smiling with a hint of knowing as he shook his host’s hand.

“Och, just like ye, here a matter of days and already makin’ acquaintances,” Jocasta laughed. “And how, may I ask, did that come about?”

“I wasna’ making acquaintances quite so much as the lassies were, in truth. I thought they were playin’ in the house while Murtagh and I worked on unpacking, but they managed to slip away for a visit. We live just next door.”

“They brought me a lovely bouquet from my garden,” Claire added, handing her empty wine glass off to a passing waiter.

“Well yer neighbors, how lovely! Tis alway nice to find a fellow from across the pond, I think. I myself am quite pleased the both of ye are here.”

“As am I.” Jamie looked at Claire then, something in his eye that she couldn't quite place, but it made her feel warm, almost blushy.

The three of them passed the time easily with talk of Jamie’s children and their own respective homelands, and for that Claire was grateful. These kinds of gatherings could drag on with boring conversations, show and tells of who had what and who went where. It often felt like a competition Claire hadn’t any interest in, but with Jamie and Jocasta it was just a pleasant conversation between friends. Unfortunately, Frank returned to her side eventually and lead her off in another direction, toward a conversation she knew already she wouldn’t enjoy half as much, but this welcome respite had given her fuel she hoped would carry her through the end of the night.

**A** s the evening wound down and many of the guests had gone home, those remaining began to move inside as the night air grew chilly and Claire found herself in the kitchen, blessedly alone for a moment. She sagged against the counter, drawing a steadying breath and sipping the last of her port, then set the glass with the growing collection beside the sink that had begun to ecru after she’d excused the waitstaff. They’d have people back in the morning for cleanup, and though it made her feel spoiled in less than pleasant way, right now she wasn’t remotely interested in doing the dishes for a party of sixty people. She looked up from the sink when she heard heavy footsteps approaching, bracing herself for impact, but was pleased when she found it was Jamie who’d interrupted her solitude.

“My apologies,” he offered quickly, retreating from the open archway. “I was in search of the restroom.”

“And I’m sorry, for you found only me,” she returned with a tired smile, gesturing behind him. “It’s back down the hallway and to the left.”

“Lucky for me that’s not displeasing at all, Sassenach.” He turned to leave, but stopped at the sound of her voice.

“I’d meant to ask you, what does that mean? _Sassenach_?”

“It means…an outlander, a foreigner. An English one, namely,” Jamie answered sheepishly, leaning against the doorframe. She could tell he was parsing his words.

“Oh, so it’s a slur?” Claire laughed incredulously and Jamie couldn’t help but beam at the thought that he had inspired that ringing, melodious sound, though he quickly insisted it was not, in fact, intended as such.

“I meant it as a—an endearment,” he assured her.

“So I’ve endeared myself to you in such a short time, have I?”

The moment it left her mouth she couldn’t believe she’d said it—that could be mistaken for flirtation, which was certainly not what she, a _married_ woman, had intended. But the wine tasting could be blamed, she supposed, if he thought anything of it. When she looked his way again she could see Jamie was pinked from his chest to his cheeks, and slightly hesitant to meet her eye.

 _Just the wine tasting_ , she reminded herself.

“As Jocasta said, lass, we expats have got to stick together,” he said, pushing off the doorway to stand at his full—and impressive—height. “Weel, I’ll leave ye be, I’m sure yer plenty tired after putting together something like this. Thank ye for allowing me to crash her party, it was—it was quite the welcome."

"It wasn't a problem at all," Claire assured him, keenly aware of his eyes on her. "I was glad to see you. These things can be...well, tedious, to be completely honest."

He looked almost as if he already knew that and normally Claire would have been exceedingly annoyed at her own transparency, but for a reason (the depths of which she didn't care to plumb at the moment), she was oddly touched. 

"It was lovely to see ye, Sassenach," Jamie said, and he turned back down the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

**“D** addy, did you go to a party last night?” Nora asked, following behind her father as he descended the stairs with her sister half asleep in his arms. 

“Aye, I did,” Jamie answered as he gently placed Fiona on the padded bench seat in the breakfast nook. Sunlight spilled in from the large windows, illuminating the kitchen so there was no need to flip on the overhead lights. Though there were a number of reasons he thought perhaps it was time to leave Scotland behind, at least for the time being, he still took pause at the thought of raising his children anywhere else. He looked back so fondly on his upbringing at Lallybroch, the days spent climbing through the bramble and hiking up ridges they had no business attempting—he treasured the freedom it had offered him, the sense of family. But northern Scotland could be gloomy, and the sun streaming in the windows heightened his sense that he’d done the right thing for his family.

“Was it fun?” Nora’s voice broke through his thoughts and he straightened to start readying breakfast for the girls. As they had only unpacked the most basic items, mostly things for the girls, during their short stay in a hotel before moving into the house, he’d be serving microwave breakfast sandwiches and orange juice from plastic cups this morning.

“It was,” he answered, unwrapping one and setting it on the microwave tray. “Ye’ll never guess who I saw there.”

“Weel I know ye saw Auntie Jocasta because ye told us ye would…” Nora mumbled, trying to puzzle it out. “And we don’t know anybody else here besides Murtagh but Murtagh was playin’ with us…who was it?”

“I saw yer new friend Ms. Claire,” Jamie answered, pouring each girl a cup of juice and watering it down from the fridge before he brought them to the table.

“Ye did?” his elder daughter asked eagerly, face cracking into a wide smile. 

“Did she look pretty?” Fiona chimed dreamily, her little chin resting in her hands as she watched her father. Jamie chuckled at this, ruffling his daughters wild post-sleep curls as he went to pull the first sandwich from the microwave. 

“She looked verra pretty, Fiona.” 

Satisfied with his answer, the girls quieted a bit, murmuring amongst themselves as he finished off each of their plates with a handful of raspberries and set them in front of his daughters.

“Is Ms. Claire your friend now, too?” Nora asked as Jamie slid into the nook beside them to eat his own breakfast.

“I think—” he caught himself speaking with a mouthful of food, a remnant of days when there were no little people around him to watch and imitate his every behavior that still reared its head from time to time, and finished the bite before he continued. “I think she is; yes.”

He liked that thought, that Claire would become his friend. She interested him greatly, least of all because he suspected she might be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Claire was a wonderful conversationalist, intelligent and thoughtful, with a laugh that he’d gladly play the fool just to hear. Still there was something more, something deeper that he’d caught a glimpse of when he found her in the kitchen. Perhaps she felt just as out of place here as he did; perhaps they’d be able to help each other in that way. 

For their part, Nora and Fiona seemed pleased with his answer, but the subject of _Ms. Claire_ was never far from the conversation for the duration of the morning. She was so nice to them, she was _so_ pretty, her house looked like a museum, she was from _Oxford, England_ and she had an _accent_ like they did, she had a little white cat named Posey who liked to snuggle and had a big, fluffy tail. They couldn't stop talking about her. It made Jamie realize that the thing that had, in fact, endeared her to him more than anything, was the way he had captured his daughter's hearts in just a single afternoon. Children, he'd always thought, were the best at reading people, and his in particularly had always been intuitive. It was clear they adored Claire, and the kindness she had shown them as they embarked on a new life in a foreign country—a time that could easily be tumultuous for two sensitive little girls—meant everything to Jamie.

**W** aterfront Park was bustling around them as Claire and Frank shared a picnic lunch over his break. With his day packed full of meetings Claire hadn’t expected to hear from her husband until he returned home in the evening, but when he called saying lunch with an associate from the tourism board had been rescheduled for the following week and asked if she cared to meet him for lunch in the park, she jumped at the chance. She missed her husband, missed being with him and feeling connected to him. In Oxford they had lived so close to the university that Frank often came home at midday to share lunch with her, or whatever else might arise between the two. Even when he didn’t, he would often send off a quick text when he had a break between classes, just something to let her know he was thinking of her. She missed that—not the attention so much as the feeling of sharing a life with someone. But today, on a bench in the leafy shade with Frank’s arm around her and she curled into his side, sharing bites of fresh fruit and affectionate nuzzles here and there, she felt that perhaps they were on the road to recapturing that. 

“I’m glad you could make it, Claire,” Frank said, his hand running up and down her arm lazily, keeping her close.

“Glad I could make it? You sound like I’m attending a luncheon,” Claire teased, though she leaned up to press a kiss against his jaw. Frank laughed and she exhaled a breath she hadn’t know she was holding—it wasn’t often he was in a playful mood nowadays, but he didn’t seem put off by it and that pleased Claire greatly.

“Well then, I’m incredibly happy to be sitting by the water having lunch with my darling wife. Is that good enough?” He teased her back, setting down his fork to tilt her chin up and kiss her. Claire hummed against his lips and returned the kiss in earnest, but when her tongue slid along his lower lip she felt him stiffen.

“Not here, Claire,” he grumbled quietly, though a smile still tugged at his lips. “Who knows who’s around.”

Claire was disappointed but tried to hide it, dropping her hand to subtly squeeze his knee.

“Won’t even french kiss his lawfully wedded wife in public, what a prude.” She laughed softly, leaning her head back against his shoulder and popping a slice of strawberry into her mouth. 

“We have a reputation to uphold, Mrs. Randall,” Frank shot back, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of tension that suggested he meant what he said. Still, he nudged his leg against Claire’s, rested his cheek atop her head for a moment. All was not lost.

They sat like that for a while longer, curled together contentedly, listening to the sound of the waves—different, somehow, than it was in England—and observing life going on around them in the park. There was a family with three young children on the bench beside them and they remarked to each other about the children. When the littlest one, no more than a toddler, climbed up into his mothers lap and snuggled up against her, Frank squeezed her thigh affectionately.

“I do _sincerely_ hope, Claire, that—that I’ll get to see you like that, one day,” he said in a rare moment of vulnerability, their eyes meeting. “I know we haven’t had the time to try, like we were in Oxford, but I want you to know that I haven’t—given up. I hope you’ve not, either.”

“Of course I haven’t,” she assured him with a soft smile, though it was tinged with sadness. They'd been trying for nearly a two years before the new job landed in Frank's lap, tracking her ovulation, researching anything and everything that would increase both of their fertility, but nothing. She'd been late exactly once and they'd nearly bubbled over with excitement, only to be met with two negative tests. It had broken both of their hearts a little bit, to have gotten their hopes up and fantasized together about everything that could be. “It takes plenty of couples a while to conceive, there’s nothing to be concerned about. We’ll be more intentional about it once we're all settled in.”

"Thank you, Claire. Truly."

"You don't have to thank me, I want this just as much as you do. We'll get our baby when the time is right —I know how stressful things have been for you here. You don't have to add this to your plate."

Frank was quiet for a moment, searching Claire's face. She was wearing just a swipe of mascara and blush today, in contrast with the full face of makeup she donned for events and lunches and the like, and she looked younger, somehow; like the second year pre-med student who'd found her way into the UK History class he was TA'ing to fulfill a general credit.

"I know this hasn't been easy on you either, darling. I didn't ever see us doing something like this, but —well, you know. It was an opportunity I couldn't turn down. Still, I'm sorry if my stress has been rubbing off on you, if I've been short or the likes. I don't like being gone this much, I just— want to do this right."

Frank kissed her soundly, squeezing her hand and glancing down at his watch to check the time. Just a few minutes before one—he should start back to the museum. Claire packed their lunch back into her tote bag and walked hand in hand with her husband back in the direction of the parking lot. They parted only when they discovered that they had parked on opposite ends. She looked around quickly to see if anybody was nearby, but the lot was mostly free of people. 

“Frank,” she called, turning slightly in his direction. “I know we have a reputation to uphold when we’re out, but I don’t believe that extends to our private home, does it?”

“Is that your bedroom voice I hear, Mrs. Randall?” Frank teased with a smirk, his eyes dropping momentarily.

“You’ll have to come home and see, won’t you Mr. Randall?” 

With the door closed behind her and the air conditioning blasting cool air at her—South Carolina weather was unforgiving this time of year—Claire sat for a moment enjoying the glow of an afternoon well spent with her husband. Frank had been sweet and silly with her, like he had when they fell in love. She felt a little high, smiling unabashedly, alone in the car, bubbling with the hope that things were finally going to return to normal.

**W** hen Claire awoke the next morning, she discovered a pleasant soreness between her legs and stretched into it, enjoying the slight pangs of pain as she luxuriated in thoughts of the night before. Despite the cloudy day beyond her window she couldn't have felt brighter. Though Frank was already gone when she finally made her way out of bed and downstairs into the kitchen, she could hardly be disappointed —he'd returned home promptly at five fifteen the night before, as opposed to his usual seven or eight o'clock arrival. It had been a wonderful evening, rejuvenating in all the ways they so desperately needed. And besides, her day was rather jam packed; she was to get lunch with Geillis Duncan, at her suggestion, and after that she had been invited to attend a fairy tea party hosted by two small heart-stealers who lived next door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I promise you'll get more of everybody's favorite couple soon enough. Thank y'all so much for reading, I can't wait to hear what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got longer than I had initially planned so I ended up breaking it in half, the second of which will be up soon. So, without further ado, heeeeere's Geillis!

**“C** laire, hen, come sit!” Geillis crowed excitedly from across the restaurant, waving one thin arm in the air. Claire watched with amusement as several of the older patrons turned to see who was making such a racket, then excused herself from the host with a nod in the redhead's direction, weaving through the tables until she reached her. Geillis stood from her seat with a dazzling white smile and folded Claire into her arms, fussing over her for a moment before sitting back down, a passing waiter swooping in to push her chair in. In what little time they'd spent together at cocktail parties and the like she had struck Claire as larger than life in a sense, an extremely emphatic woman, and she'd been proven right thus far.

“I’m so pleased we’re doin’ this, I’ve been dying to get to know ye!” the younger woman said as they settled in, gesturing without taking her eyes off Claire to a waiter standing off to the side of the room who turned off towards the kitchen. “I hope ye dinna mind sitting inside, I stay out of the sun as much as I can. Ages ye quick, ye ken.”

“I don’t mind at all—and thank you for calling, it was kind of you to think of me,” Claire answered, taking a moment to look around.  The room was grand, styled like a ballroom with tall arched windows framed by delicate white curtains spanning the walls, allowing the sunlight to bathe the room in the bright glow of early afternoon. It was busy, too, with nearly every table filled by people clearly dressing to be seen, like her company was. She wondered, briefly, if perhaps Frank had been here—it seemed just the kind of place his crowd might go to discuss business. 

“So, Claire Randall, tell me all about yourself! ’Tis not often ye find an Englishwoman in these parts, how is it ye ended up here?” Geillis wasted no time getting right into it, sparkling green eyes fixed intently on the woman across the table.

“Well you've met Frank, my husband. He was a history professor at Oxford, and studied under Professor Robert Walker before that.”

“Oh yes, I kent Robert well when he was living here! So that’s Frank’s connection then?” Geillis cut in easily, the twitch in her lip suggesting that she might have known the old professor quite well indeed.

“Yes, yes. When he was retiring from the historical society he contacted Frank to see if he was interested in the position, which he was—so, here we are, I suppose.” And it had been just as simple as that. Robert asked, Frank answered, and subsequently informed his wife that they were to turn in their visa applications within a month. There had been little to no consultation between husband and wife, no questions about her career and how her life might be effected—but that, she knew, she had to let go. Resenting Frank, or the job, or America for what she had lost would only hurt her in the end.

“And were ye a homemaker in Oxford then, too?” Geillis smiled at the waiter as he set two flutes of champagne on the table, and Claire was amused when she noticed her eyes drop for the quickest of moments. She’d heard from some of the more gossip prone women she knew here that Geillis was a famous flirt—and something of a cougar since her husband’s passing, at that—and apparently they hadn’t been lying.

“No,” Claire answered quickly, finding that the word _homemaker_ in particular stirred something unpleasant in her, though if she were really to parse out what her duties here had been thus far that’s exactly what she was. “I was a doctor—a surgeon, actually.”

“A surgeon, really? I could never do that myself, can’t stand the sight of blood and all that. And are ye plannin’ to practice in America any time soon?”

_Goodness, this woman really didn’t shy away from a question._

Claire offered a tight-lipped smile and sipped at her champagne, grateful to have an excuse to put off answering. She knew what she'd say, but it didn't mean she liked the truth of the matter.

“I’d like to, at some point,” she replied after a moment, resisting the sigh that usually accompanied this line of thinking. “For now we’re still getting settled. It’s—both of us have been busy, so I suppose I’m not in any particular hurry at the moment.”

“Och, I ken how that goes. When I moved here for my late husband it took me a good while to get used to things. You'll settle in, though—anything can be normal with enough time. I hope you like it so far, at least?’

“It’s—well, it’s different,” Claire admitted with a laugh. “The people are interesting, Frank enjoys his work—I never imagined I’d learn this much about the history of the American South. It’s taken some adjusting, but I’m sure you know all about that. How long have you lived here?”

“It’ll be five years in November, but it’s never been full time. I moved here with Hank after we got engaged, but he was already retired so we traveled a good bit. He was on a golf trip in Scotland when we met, actually. It was love at first sight.” Her voice suggested something almost dreamy, but Claire saw that her eyes were not nearly as involved in the story. “He passed in November, as I’m sure ye heard; he was very involved in the community. Such a heartbreak—he was barely sixty.”

Claire offered her condolences, though she wasn’t entirely certain Geillis needed them. She was hardly subtle, so much so that it left Claire a little flabbergasted. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that a young, attractive woman such as Geillis ended up with a retired, childless oil magnate by accident, but her rebound seemed ostentatiously speedy. Still, there was something undeniably likable at her, her openness as stunning as it was ingratiating; not to mention the simple fact that Claire simply needed a friend. Geillis proved to be an entertaining lunch companion and the time passed quickly, their conversation interspersed with delicious food and free flowing champagne. When things were wrapping up, Claire's lunch companion insisted on setting out a wad of cash for the bill, shooing away Claire’s attempts to cover her half, and soon after the two women were walking out, laughing and chatting like old friends.

“I can’t drive home like this!” Claire giggled, thankful she’d chosen a lower heel for the excursion.

“Lord, I shouldn’t either. Say, let’s do a little shopping! There are some great boutiques just down the way, you’ll love it.” Without another word they were off, Geillis tugging Claire by the hand down the cobblestone towards a row of shops.

While her estimation wasn't exactly correct, Claire enjoyed their afternoon immensely, and even walked away with a few pieces after Geillis insisted they were _so_ her. In all honesty they weren't—though she didn't hate them, and she was sure she'd find things to wear them to, they were more _Mrs. Randall_ than they were her. They shopped their buzz off sharing laughs and getting to know one another, and Claire was pleased that she seemed to have found her first real friend in the states.

As they parted ways to return to their cars, Geillis called out and caught Claire by the arm before she got too far.

"What d'ye think Jamie Fraser? I know he just moved into the house beside yours," she asked, a hint of suggestion in her voice.

“You really do know everyone’s business around here,” Claire teased with a laugh, adjusting the shopping bags on her shoulder. “He’s nice. I don't know him too well—actually, I probably know his girls better. He did come to that wine tasting we hosted with Jocasta Cameron. He's her nephew, I think?"

"Oh they did? I've been so busy since he arrived I've hardly had the chance to even text! That's good though, I'm glad he's already getting to know people. Handsome, isn't he?"

Claire felt herself blush but there was nowhere to hide, not a clothing rack or menu to turn her attention to til her cheeks had calmed.

“He’s…certainly not bad to look at,” she admitted, desperately fighting a smile. God, she must still be drunk if the mere mention of his name had her blushing. She didn’t know what it was; he was _attractive,_ that didn’t mean she was _attracted_ to him. She enjoyed his company and that of his daughters, that was all there was to it.

Geillis, who had sidled up closer to Claire now, hummed suggestively and elbowed her in the ribs, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she hummed suggestively with comically wide eyes.

“ _I_ am very much married in case you haven’t noticed,” Claire waggled her ring finger emphatically in her friend’s direction. “But as for you…that could be an interesting option to pursue.”

“Ah dhia, no!” Geillis cackled. “I’ve known Jamie my whole life, we could never. And besides, I’m not much for children. They’re fun for a while—the good ones, anyway—but I can’t imagine having ‘em around all the time. I couldn't be anyones mother.”

Claire was tempted for a fleeting moment to ask about the girls mother. In all the times she and Jamie had chatted the subject had never come up, but she stopped herself before her curiosity got the better of her. She had noticed that Jamie didn’t wear a wedding ring, but it wasn’t any of her business and she suspected that if she asked Geillis about it there was a chance it wouldn’t stay between the two of them.

"Weel, whoever gets him in the bag will be a lucky lady," Geillis added with a smirk, suddenly dropping her bags to pull her phone from her handbag. "Say, are ye free two weeks from today? I'd do next week but I'll be in Napa Valley."

"I think so, but let me double check when I get home. I'd love to do this again, though," answered Claire, offering Geillis a final smile before they went their separate ways.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a fairy tea party and two increasingly smitten expats. Lord help me, I don't know how slow this burn will end up being. I hope you're all enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it!

**“I** t’s Claire, it’s Claire!”

“We’ll get it, Daddy!”

After a quick stop at home to drop off her things and change out of her unforgiving pencil skirt into a pair of loose fitting jeans and a simple grey t-shirt, Claire stood on the Fraser’s doorstep, listening to the girls excited shrieking and their little feet pounding down the stairs towards the front door. She couldn’t help but beam. They were sunshine itself, both of them—well behaved and sweet, but just mischievous enough for it to be charming, and genuinely delightful to talk with. They had taken to visiting Claire’s a couple of times a week, though now with their father in tow at least to drop them off. He stayed sometimes. Those were always the best times, the four of them playing and the two of them chatting when they could, though she wouldn’t admit that to herself.

Nora threw open the front door, bumping into her sister causing both of them to stumble as they stepped out of the way. Jamie wasn’t far, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he came up behind them.

“Hi Claire!” the chorused happily, both grinning and shifting from foot to foot as Jamie guided them further back from the door to allow their guest room to come inside.

“Hello! I’m happy to see you both,” she replied, bending down for hugs. She’d learned quickly that the girls were both very tactile, always holding hands or climbing into her lap, and she didn't mind it in the slightest. They especially loved playing with her hair, excited as they were that she had curls like they did, and though she almost always had a rats nest to brush out upon parting ways, she couldn’t deny them. 

“Good to see ye, Sassenach,” Jamie greeted her with a warm smile, closing the door behind them. When she stood up once more, he looked at her strangely, his head cocked as his face broke into a grin. He stepped a little closer to, his voice low. “Ye smell a little…funny, shall I say?”

Claire mouth dropped open, her eyes flickering between Jamie’s as she realized her error. “Oh god, I’m—I went to lunch with your friend Geillis and…I’m not—I’m not—” she stammered, mindful enough at least to keep her voice soft so the girls didn’t overhear anything. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, helpless over the opening and closing of her lips as she tried to think of what to say.

“Relax, Sassenach, I’m just teasin’ ye,” Jamie chuckled, though he felt bad that he’d said anything, seeing how it embarrassed her. Claire gasped, fighting a smile as her eyes narrowed in his direction.

“That was not nice!” she hissed, glancing at the children to make sure they weren’t looking before whacking him playfully on the arm.

“Daddy?” Jamie’s girls turned their attention back to the grown ups just in time to miss what they weren’t to see, looking up at their father with big, serious eyes.

“Daddy, we need ye to stay with Claire while we finish getting ready,” Nora commanded, looking stern in the most adorable way with her hands planted on her hips.

“Ye got here before we got all ready,” Fiona told Claire with a giggle, rolling up and down on her tip toes.

“I think we can manage,” Jamie said, watching as the girls scrambled away up the stairs. Once they were out of sight, he turned his attention to Claire, who had slipped off her sneakers and nudged them out of the way so as to avoid anyone tripping. “Can I get ye somethin’ to drink? A _water_ perhaps?” 

“Would you stop!” Claire whacked at him again, harder now that the girls weren’t around, grazing his shoulder as he led her into the kitchen. Jamie just laughed, filling glasses for each of them as Claire perched on a barstool at the kitchen island. 

“Dinna fash,” he assured her, sliding her glass across the granite and leaning against the counter across from her. “I'm a Scotsman, after all. So, ye had lunch with Geillis, then? You two now each other well?”

“No, not really. Not until today, I suppose. We’d seen each other here and there at parties, but she tracked down my phone number somehow and asked if I wanted to get lunch. She told me the two of you grew up together?”

“We did, aye; same year in school and all. Our families go back hundreds of years in the same village. By the time we came along though we weren’t good for much of anythin', running around in the forest and causin’ a ruckus where’er we went...Scotland was good to me as a lad.” 

Claire was about to tease him about what a troublemaker she imagined he was, but when she saw his eyes go somewhere far off, somewhere unseen to her, she held her tongue. She tried but found she couldn’t tear her gaze off him; she wanted badly to be privy to the memories that swam behind his eyes, as touching as they clearly were for him.

“Why did you leave?” she asked gently, the forwardness of the question surprising them both. But before he could answer they heard little feet pattering down the stairs and both heads snapped in the direction of the noise just in time to see Fiona leap from the fourth stair up, Nora following suit.

The girls were indeed decked out in their fairy finery, each with a pair of wings that Claire wagered were renaissance fair loot, not from some inexpensive toy company. They were well crafted, beautiful, really, and from the smiles on their faces, the girls were very proud of them. To top off the look, both wore layers of dress up necklaces and bracelets, and big gauzy skirts in hues of pink, purple and blue. 

“My goodness, look at your wings!” Claire exclaimed, she herself thrilled simply at seeing the girls so. "You make two beautiful fairies."

“Are ye ready for the tea party Claire?” Nora asked excitedly, coming to stand with her sister just beside their guest’s chair. 

“Daddy unpacked aaaaall of our toys last night so we could dress up!” Fiona said happily, picking absently at the fabric of her skirt.

“And he hasna' even unpacked his clothes!” Both girls clearly thought this was hilarious and erupted into a fit of giggles, but Claire was quite touched. Looking around, the house was still strewn with boxes, though fewer than there had been the last time she was there. That he had ignored kitchen utensils and his own belongings to unpack toys for his children was terribly sweet, and spoke to what a dedicated father he was. It was admirable, and she couldn’t help but wonder to herself if Frank would be like that if they ever had children. She knew, from the last time they had talked, that Jamie had delayed his official start date at Cameron Farms twice now, for fear the girls wouldn’t adjust as well to life in a new country if he were gone all the time. Try as she might, she couldn’t picture her husband making the same choice.

“Will ye make us the tea now?” Fiona asked as she and her sister hauled their guest up out of her chair, one girl to each hand, and pulled her towards the door to the back yard.

“Daddy put our table out back and everything, special for the tea party,” Nora told Claire as she pulled the sliding door open so hard it bounced against the frame.

“Hold her horses, lassies. Why don’t ye ask Ms. Claire if she’d like to put her shoes on before ye go outside?” Jamie suggested, and the girls looked up at her expectantly.

“That’s alright, I like to feel the grass between my toes,” she assured, glancing back at Jamie to find him following them out, to her surprise. He skirted around the trio and stood by the table awaiting their arrival.

“May I get your chairs, fairies?” he asked, adopting a silly, overly proper persona that had the girls giggling yet again. They nodded vigorously and he sat them both down before attending to Claire. “Madame,” he said with a crooked smile, stepping back once she was seated in the comically tiny chair to survey his ‘work’. “Yer tea will be ready shortly.” With that he was gone, leaving his beaming, tittering daughters and their guest of honor in his wake. 

“I didn’t know we’d have a butler for our tea party, how fancy,” Claire commented, absolutely taken with the whole thing.

“Fairies canna serve their own tea,” Fiona told her as though it were as obvious as the color of the sky.

“Fi, Fi!” Nora whisper-yelled to her sister, leaning in conspiratorially and murmuring something in her ear. Fiona’s eyes bugged out as she nodded eagerly, both girls turning back to face Claire and announcing that they had to make her a fairy, too. No sooner had they said it, they were up and out of their chairs, flanking their newest fairy friend and pulling off some of their own jewelry to put on her. Claire winced as the baubles occasionally got stuck in her hair on the way, gently reminding them to slow down as she reached up to untangle the knots. When they were finished, the girls stepped back to admire their handiwork.

“Ye look beautiful, Fairy Clairy!” Fiona said, clearly pleased with her own cleverness. 

“Thank you for sharing your necklaces with me,” Claire replied as they returned to their chairs, reaching out quickly to catch Fiona around the middle as she nearly tripped on her skirt. Fiona recovered and wiggled out of her grasp quickly to sit back down, but Claire was momentarily taken aback by her own reaction time. In Oxford, when she and Frank  had been trying to conceive, she’d spent a lot of time wondering what kind of mother she would be. Having been raised by her bachelor uncle after her parents death, she'd had no example. It frightened her, lacking any kind of blueprint. She worried she wouldn’t know what to do, that the maternal instinct she’d heard so many women talk about wouldn’t kick in for her. She hadn't spent much time around children at all, really. But befriending the Frasers, being with Nora and Fiona, had been so effortless. She hadn't truly realized it until that moment, seeing that Fiona would fall almost before it even happened—that was the instinct. It was there, somewhere in her, and perhaps when her time came it wouldn't be perfect or refined, but at least she knew now that it was there.

"Claire...d'ye want tae hear a secret?" Nora asked with a sneaky look on her face.

"A secret? What kind of secret?"

"A good secret, I promise," the little girl answered, holding up a pinkie that Claire wrapped her own around and shook gently. "Okay. Daddy said ye looked _verra pretty_ when he went to yer party." Her cheeks pinked at that and both girls giggled. Claire couldn't help but be flattered, and perhaps a little flushed herself.   


"Oh did he?" she sing-songed, tapping Fiona's button nose as she leaned in. 

"Maybe," the younger of the two attempted to whisper, though her laughter made it hard. "Maybe Daddy has a crush on Ms. Claire!"

"Oh, no, your Daddy and I are just friends," Claire cut in quickly, eager to nip that particular line of thought in the bud. "I have a husband, remember? His name is Frank." She heard back door open and startled a little, hoping to God Jamie hadn't heard anything.

"Ah Dhia, I have three beautiful fairies in my back yard?" he announced as he made his way to them with a tray. He set it on the table before them, bending to kiss each of his daughters on the head. "Anything else I can get ye wee ladies?" When the girls shook their heads no he retreated back to the house to let them play, thankful that Claire's presence would allow him some uninterrupted time to unpack. 

**W** hen next he peeked his head out the door, Fiona and Nora were up from the table, fairy attire abandoned haphazardly on the lawn so they could show Claire their tricks. They were running about, showing her their cartwheels and handstands and the like—some better executed than others—and Claire a happy audience, clapping and telling them what a good job they did each time. Though he could have easily benefitted from some additional time to make a dent in the boxes still strewn about the house, he knew how important it was for the girls to have some semblance of a routine in the midst of such a massive change, and 3:30 was reading time. Still, he put off stepping into the yard for a moment, just watching the three of them together. The girls were alight with joy and Claire seemed to be having equally as good a time.

_Claire._

He was grateful to her in ways he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to express, for what she had been to his children since their arrival in South Carolina. He worried, worried all the time, about finding good role models for them. In Scotland they'd had Jenny, but for his own sanity if little else he needed to leave, needed to start fresh without the weight of the memories that haunted him there. Still, he feared there would be no one to fill that void in their lives and it worried him something great—little did he know, a curly-wigged Englishwoman was waiting with open arms on the other side of the ocean and he would forever be indebted to her for that. He could only hope that someday he'd be able to tell her exactly what that—what _she—_ meant to him.

"Alright lassies, it's time to say goodbye to Claire," he announced, met with the expected disappointed grumblings from his children.

"Don't whine now, I'm sure I'll get to see you soon," Claire soothed them as then descended on her, still perched in the child sized chair, and nuzzled into her arms. "I wonder what your Daddy has planned for you?"

"It's time to do some reading," came Jamie's answer as he began to collect necklaces and fairy wings from the grass. 

"Ooh, that sounds like fun!" Claire said as she helped the girls gather up their things and followed Jamie into the house. 

"Can we read in Gaelic today?" Fiona asked excitedly, dropping her handful of necklaces unceremoniously on the floor once inside, lingering by Claire's side.

"I think that sounds like a brilliant idea," Jamie answered, sound especially pleased by this himself. "Perhaps yer sister will even read a little for us!"

"You speak Gaelic?" Claire asked as she slipped her shoes on at the door, eyeing Jamie with surprise.

"Aye, fluently," came his answer as he swung Nora up onto his hip. "I'm hoping to pass it down to these wee lassies while I can."

"Fluently! You don't hear that too often these days. You girls ought to listen to what he teaches you, speaking Gaelic is quite the skill!" 

Fiona reached up with her little arms and Claire lifted her easily, giving her a big squeeze before setting her back down in the entryway, barely standing upright again when Nora launched her top half from her fathers arms to wrap her arms around Claire's neck. The result was Jamie stepping out quickly towards Claire, who caught herself with a hand on his arm, to avoid falling herself, and the three collided with laughs all around as Claire said her final goodbyes. 

"If I practice hard can I read to ye in Gaelic next time you're here?" Nora asked with wide eyes just as Claire stepped out the door.

"Of course you can, darling," Claire answered, smiling first to each of the girls and then to Jamie before setting off towards her house.

With Nora in his arms and Fiona tugging at his pant leg, he stood in the doorway for a long moment, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched the swing of her hips. Twas a damn shame she was married, he thought to himself as Fiona's insistent tapping against his leg finally stole his attention away. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew what I wanted this chapter to be but I couldn't get it to work quite until I tried it from Jamie's POV, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on how that read. Things are starting to heat up, I can't wait to hear what you think!

**J** amie stepped onto the deck whiskey in hand and fell into a chair, sighing heavily. He took a long pull from his glass and set it down, looking out into the vast sky above. Even that was different here, not speckled quite so freely with stars like it was in Scotland, and he found he couldn’t make out a single constellation. Not that he had the energy to try all that hard—it had been a particularly difficult evening, and about all he could bring himself to do was have a dram and turn in for the night. Both of his daughters had been overtired and cranky, and between dinner and the moment he was finally able to sneak out of their room he’d fielded several full fledged meltdowns—less than gracefully, by his account.

It was nights like tonight when he missed Annalise the most; it was so much easier with her. She had a special way with their daughters, and the patience of a saint no matter what their they were going through, gently guiding them from tantrums to peace without once losing her temper. She had done the same for him, taking him into her arms when they finally found respite as the children slept and soothing any concern or lingering annoyance he had. Parenting wasn’t meant to be done alone, and the passage of time never seemed to soothe that wound.

A door slammed in the distance and he glanced over towards Claire’s house. What he found surprised him. She went straight for the porch railing in a swish of pink and white silk and popped the cork of a champagne bottle, bringing it quickly to her lips to drink till the fizzing died down. She moved carelessly, wiping her chin with the back of her hand as she collapsed into the wicker sofa. This wasn’t the refined Claire he’d gotten to know at cocktail parties and afternoons spent on expensive boats, nor even the softer, freer version of her he’d seen glimpses of on afternoons spent playing with his girls. Even from a distance he could see something was amiss, and before he was fully aware of it he was unlatching the wrought iron gate that separated their yards.

She startled when he called her name, searching the darkened yard til her eyes landed on him, and stood, crossing and uncrossing her arms, then reaching for the champagne bottle to hold in front of her chest. The flurry of pink and white he had seen from afar was stagnant now, barely blowing in the occasional night breeze; a long white chemise with a pale pink robe atop it, detailed with lace and buttoned below her breasts. He caught the flush of embarrassment crawling from chest to cheek and kept his eyes steady on her face so as not to make it any worse. From the looks of it, the lack of a glass to accompany the champagne she held, she hadn’t intended on being seen tonight and he almost felt badly for interrupting. Still, something pulled him in til he was standing at the base of the steps, looking up at her and forcing his eyes to keep from dropping. 

“I didn’t see you were out. Drink?” she offered with a wry smile, raising the bottle in his direction. “I’ll even get you a glass.” He chuckled, lifting his own glass in response, and eased up the stairs until he was standing before her.

“I’ll still join ye, though, if ye dinna mind.”

“It’s not sad if I’m not drinking alone,” she joked glumly, taking another sip as she sunk back onto the far end of the sofa. Jamie followed suit, leaning against the high backed wicker on the opposite end. Claire didn’t say anything else, simply tucked her legs beneath herself and rested the bottle against her knee as she gazed out into the yard. Now, no longer under her observation, Jamie couldn’t help but allow his eyes to wander, the moonlight making her ivory skin glow something ethereal. The negligée hugged the lines of her body, her nipples pressing against the fabric in the slight chill. He drank her in just long enough to feel ashamed of himself and then turned his attention back to his glass, letting the amber liquid burn down his throat as he took another long sip.

“I have to ask,” he started when finally he got up the courage, watching her intently as she turned her eyes back to him. “What’ve ye done to yer hair?” It was sleek and straight, and fell well below her shoulders where before her curls had barely brushed them. She diverted her gaze again, biting at her bottom lip, and he stumbled quickly over his words to add, “It’s no’ that ye—ye look—it looks nice…but yer curls are so bonnie.” 

“Frank doesn’t seem to share the same opinion,” Claire replied a hint of bitterness in her voice that she drowned out with champagne. “I went for a blowout today for our—we were supposed to have dinner, but something came up at work so he’s…” she trailed off, leaning her head back to rest against the wicker. In reality, she didn't know what had come up, or where he was. A single text in the afternoon to let her know he’d be a half hour late coming home was all she’d heard, but that half hour had long since come and gone with no Frank. It wouldn’t have been nearly so painful had he not woken her with soft whispers of _Happy Anniversary_ where her neck met her shoulder, wrapping her in his arms as they reminisced; forgetting it altogether would have hurt less. 

“I’m sorry, Claire.” He could tell it was more than just dinner but he wouldn’t pry, and instead let his hand rest on the cushion between them, leaving the decision to her. Her eyes—much the same color as his drink, he noted—traveled slowly up his arm until she was looking at him through her dark lashes and Christ, he wished things were different. It wasn’t the first time it had crossed his mind but Jamie never allowed himself to entertain the thought; still he felt the familiar heat as she laid her hand on top of his, coursing through his body like a change in the very atoms between them. 

“Thank you. For coming over—I would have spent the night alone in my wallowing otherwise,” Claire said softly, her smile not quite so tinged with sadness as pulled her hand back into her lap. “And you? What’s got you patio drinking tonight?”

“The lasses had a hard night,” he answered with a heavy sigh, looking down into his glass again. “Fiona was o’ertired and Nora was pressing her buttons every chance she got. I shouldn’t have lost my temper but Christ, getting ‘em from dinner to sleep took near three hours.”

“I can’t imagine doing all that alone.” It was meant to be helpful but he could tell from the way Claire winced at her own words she regretted it—they’d never spoken of his children’s mother, of Annalise. “I’m—I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me. I shouldn’t have—”

“Dinna fash—I canna either, but here I find myself doin’ it day in and day out. Makes me miss her, though, when it’s like it was tonight.”

“What was her name?”

“Annalise,” Jamie answered, surprised at how strange her name felt in his mouth. He rarely spoke it aloud now, in a foreign country where few of his acquaintances knew anything of her. “She…she died in a car crash just after Fiona turned two.”

“Jamie I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off, inching closer to him to pull his hand from his lap and hold it between her own. They settled into another lengthy silence, neither in a hurry to say anything more. He wished desperately that she could hold more of him, that he could rest his head on her chest, be wrapped in her comfort. But if the yearning was the price he had to pay just to have her in his life, in his daughter’s lives, he was willing to go bankrupt. 

“What was she like? Your Annalise.” Claire’s voice was gentle, a suggestion instead of an outright question.

_Only if he wanted to tell her._

“She was my first love,” he answered, unexpectedly overcome by the statement. He hadn’t spoken of her to anyone besides their daughters in so long. When he said nothing further Claire made no attempt to pry, only stroked the back of his hand with the pad of her thumb. The sensation, the _care_ in it _,_ brought him back to earth. “We met in our first year at university, an’ that was it. We got married after graduating, moved back to Scotland to have the lasses…She was set on stayin' home wi’ them from the beginning; I couldna have dreamed up a better Mam if I tried.” He felt the familiar tightness in his chest and took a long, measured breath. The last thing either of them needed was him to fall apart. It angered him sometimes, that the thought of her could still level him in an instant. She was not the first person he lost and he knew she wouldn't be the last, but the hurt had never gone on quite like this. He could feel Claire's eyes on him as he fought to control his emotions, his hands gripping the lowball so tight he was afraid it would shatter.

"Jamie?" 

When the only reply was the sound of his breathing, tight and labored, Claire closed the distance between them to sit with her side pressed to his, their hands resting against her leg. 

"Grief isn't something you move through, it's something you move with," she said softly, eyes trained ahead. Another moment. "I—lost my parents, when I was young, and my uncle used to tell me that. It never goes away, but neither do they. You just...you learn to live with it, somehow."

In the stillness, Jamie felt her presence and her words sink into his chest, reaching inside and and loosening the strings around his heart so he could breathe again. 

"Thank ye, Sassenach. And I'm sorry, for your parents."

"It was a long time ago," came her melancholy answer.

"I lost mine a long time ago, too. Never quite stops hurting, though. So ye move _with_ it, as ye say." He wasn't normally so free with his own history, marked with loss as it was, but Claire offered him safety and the genuine kind of empathy that only someone who shared that lived experience could. He noticed that even in the silence that passed she didn't pull away or drop his hand. Perhaps she needed it just as much as he did. Allowing himself to sink deeper into the moment, he relished the warmth of her beside him. It had been so long since he'd felt that kind of connection with another person, the ability to sit in a comfortable silence like this, the trust that just _being_ was enough. He liked this Claire best of all, the woman who was _just being_ , not worried about who was looking or what she was wearing, how she measured up. In his eyes, everyone else paled in comparison. 

"Daddy?" a small, frightened voice traveled from next door and they both looked over to see Fiona's little head poking out of the sliding door. 

"I'm over here, Fi, just a moment," Jamie called back, pulling his hand from Claire's as he stood. She looked almost disappointed to see him go. "Thank ye, Claire, for —thank ye."

"You too," she answered, pulling her robe back up to cover her shoulder. 

He turned back as he neared the edge of the yard to find her exactly as he'd left her, tucked into herself on the wicker couch. 

_Christ, she was beautiful._

"If it means anything to ye, Frank's missing out." 

Later, with Fiona cradled in his arms in the big plush rocking chair, snoring ever so slightly, he found he didn't regret saying it. He hoped it hadn't been taken the wrong way, god forbid, as an advance of some sort. But he couldn't fathom how Frank could have chosen work over going home to that, to _her._ If it were him, he couldn't have left the office fast enough. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! I come bearing an update! You might notice I've made some changes to the format and the chapter titles, and I went back and made the same changes in the first six chapters as well. Naming the chapters after the inspiring lyric wasn't quite working for me, but I'm curious if it did anything for you as readers. If you'd be so kind as to let me know what you think, I can definitely figure out a way to continue including the lyrics if you'd like!
> 
> Just a heads up so as to avoid any confusion, Louise de la Tour has been renamed Louise Douglas for the purposes of this story, and she's as American as they come.

**C** laire stood wrapped in a towel at the end of her bed, staring at the wall and forcing herself to breathe. _In for four, hold for four, out for four, repeat. In for four, hold for four, out for four, repeat._ This was _beyond._

Laid out on top of the pristine bed linens (made so by her, of course) was a white, tea length sundress with a collared halter neck and tortoiseshell buttons running down the front, a cream colored tag pinned just below the left armpit. Above it, an intricately woven straw sunhat and the matching diamond drop earrings and tennis bracelet Frank had gifted her for their anniversary—the morning after, that is. She hadn’t worn them yet in silent, albeit passive aggressive, protest.Sitting just in front of her on the floor, a pair of thick-heeled, strappy white leather sandals.

_Beyond._

Frank had been picky, opinionated, at his worst verging on controlling, when it came to how she _presented herself_ since the move _._ He made plenty of suggestions when they were hosting or going out, but they’d always come from her closet. He’d never gone so far as to go out and procure an entirely new outfit.

At the end of another four count exhale, she had a choice to make. She could go the outright _fuck you_ direction and wear something entirely different, though that would likely earn her a conversation she didn’t particularly want to have on the car ride to the country club. It would be easier to just wear it. With another breath—the suggested grounding properties of which she was still searching for—she pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and tossed the first pair of panties she saw onto the bed behind her. With a hand hovering over a flesh colored strapless bra, she had an idea, and back into the drawer they went.

**“O** h, Claire, you look marvelous!” Frank seemed genuinely pleased as he stood from the sitting room couch to kiss her cheeks. “This looks just divine on you, don’t you think? I knew it would.” With his hands cupping her elbows, he held her away from his body for the routine examination, and his smile faltered.

“It’s beautiful Frank, so thoughtful of—” 

“Claire, are you—where’s your— _bra_?” His voice dropped on the last word like he was swearing in a church.

“I didn’t want my straps showing.”

“Well don’t you have something strapless?” 

“Dirty,” Claire answered innocently, batting her lashes in feigned flirtation. “I hope you don’t mind, darling.” Watching the indecision in his eyes, she leaned in for effect, pressing herself against him .

“Well…we’ll be outside where it’ll be warm, so we won’t have to worry about… _that.”_

_“_ I’ll be sure to stay out the air conditioning, _Mr. Randall_ —if only for your benefit,” Claire purred, pressing her lips to his neck. “Wouldn’t want you distracted, would we?”

“ _Claire,”_ he warned, his spindly hands finding her waist and giving it a squeeze. Thoroughly pleased with herself, Claire ghosted her lips over the shell of her husbands ear, rolling her hips just subtly enough for him to feel it.

“I’ll see you, back here, when this _Labor Day_ party is over, and perhaps I’ll show you what I _am_ wearing underneath this lovely dress.”

Smirking, she turned on her heel, taking her round wicker handbag from the sideboard in the foyer and tossing the keys in Frank’s direction.

_Hook, line and sinker._

**C** laire trailed around the party on Frank’s arm, making small talk where she could but listening more than anything. She’d grown to detest attending these kinds of events even more than hosting them—if she were hosting them at least she got to make the rules. But, perhaps at the club more than elsewhere, the was an air of antiquity, of women talking amongst themselves of _feminine matters_ and listening quietly to anything else. To his credit, Frank often apologized for this after the fact and they would have a laugh at finding themselves in the ranks of such closed-minded individuals; he wasn’t that kind of man, but he _was_ willing to play the game around those who were and, for the sake of love, Claire went along with it.

“Frank was gettin’ a little handsy tonight,” Geillis teased as she returned triumphant from the bar, taking Claire’s “boring” wine and replacing it with a double gin and tonic. 

“God, he’d be mortified if he knew anyone noticed.” Claire chuckled, smirking and offering a flirtatious waggle of her fingers when she noticed him looking in their direction. “Thank you, by the way.” Geillis had blessedly saved her from interminable conversation about the pros and cons of the most recent city budget proposals, spiriting her off to join her circle of friends. She had an uncanny ability to attract the most interesting people in any room, and Claire was grateful to be among them.

Not that she _hadn’t_ been enjoying Frank’s attentions the slightest bit. But that wasn't the plan.

“What’s got mister uptight in the mood tonight? Might it have something to do with your uncharacteristic lack of a _bra_?” 

“Geillis!” Claire scolded, though her eyes were alight with mirth. “I may or may not have tortured him _ever_ so slightly before we left tonight. But with good reason! He set out this whole outfit for me while I was in the shower—if I’m to play the perfect Mrs. Randall I’m going to have my fun with it, too.”

“Och, but don’t ye think that was sweet of him?” Geillis asked.

“Controlling is what it is,” Claire replied. “He didn’t even pick it from my closet he _went out and bought it_. As if I didn’t have something perfectly fine to wear! I swear he doesn’t trust me to keep up his _appearance_ as far as he can throw me.”

“At least your curls are back,” Geillis reasoned, pulling gently one one to watch it spring back into place. “Those were dark days—and all for naught.”

Claire rolled her eyes and shook her head with a huff, the remembrance of her failed anniversary night settling sourly. Though on the surface things had returned more or less to normal— _this_ normal, anyway—in the wake of that night, Frank's brushing off of the whole thing had left Claire slightly bitter, and if she were completely honest, tonight wasn't the first time she'd punished him for it.

“God, I’ll _never_ do that again,” she said, taking a healthy sip of her drink.

“Good. Ye ken I love ye, but ye don’t look right wi’ straight locks. And he still hasn't said anything about _why_ he missed it?”

"Not really. He told me the next morning he had one too many drinks at a last minute work dinner and fell asleep at his desk, but I've known the man going on twenty hears and I've _never_ seen him have one too many. He's far to obsessed with control for that, especially now. It just doesn't make sense."

"What if he's..." Geillis trailed off, clearly seeing what she thought to be the only rational explanation but not too keen to be the one to say it when it came down to the wire.

"Having an affair? I entertained that, but I really don't think he would do that. He's—if anything that would pose much to great a threat to his standing if anyone were to find out. And things like that _always_ get out in the end, I don't care how sneaky you are." In the silence that followed her answer, Claire was painfully aware of how naive she sounded. _He wouldn't do that?_ Those sounded like the words of any wife too blinded by love and loyalty to see the forest for the trees. But she _knew_ Frank, had known him since she was barely twenty years old. That just wasn't him.

The term _when you hear hoofbeats, don't look for zebras_ came to mind but Geillis said nothing more, searching for any quick escape from that uncomfortable conversation. Lucky for her, her green eyes landed on exactly the distraction she'd enjoy most.

"Say, I've been meaning to ask ye, what do ye think of her?" she asked, lowering her voice as she flicked her head subtly towards a tall, dark haired woman surrounded by a swath of young men.

"Real tan, green dress?" Claire confirmed, a nod to their favorite game to play when they were at these things together. As much promise as spray tans held (for some), Claire and Geillis found them easy to spot and, quite frankly, tacky, so when they got bored they'd sit conspiratorially together and point out the most egregious hues of orange they could find. It wasn't particularly nice, but then again the people sporting them generally weren't the most pleasant in both of their experiences, so they escaped without guilt. "What, are you sussing out your competition?" Claire teased when Geillis nodded.

"No, that is no' what I'm doing, thank ye verra much," Geillis shot back, taking a sip of her drink. "Pretty, isn't she? Louise Douglas, the Douglas plantation outside of town has been in her family so long they still call it a plantation. But her Daddy puts her up in a nice flat in town so she can work over at Charleston Stage."  


"Oh—for you?" Claire asked curiously, sensing that this was a side of Geillis few were privy to.

"People talk," Geillis replied with an off handed shrug. "No about me, mind ye, and I better no' hear 'em start or I'll have yer heid! But I've always been good at sneakin' around and the likes. A woman like that though, she's got the kind of money that lets ye do as ye please. She's not _out out_ , but it's an...open secret, shall we say. Och! I spy wi' my little eye some eye candy for ye as well. Jamie!" Her voice cut across the party and he turned back from the bar to see who'd called him. Geillis waved him over and he followed his daughters, both dripping wet and wrapped in plush club issue towels, as they bobbed and weaved through the crowd. They arrived before he did and sandwiched themselves on the sofa between Claire and Geillis, excitedly babbling their greetings as Jamie arrived.

"Careful, lassies, don't get Claire and Auntie Geillis all wet now," he reminded them, extending his hand so they could each take a covered cup from him. The girls took them gratefully, panting as they each sucked at their bendy straws until they'd reached the last drops of whatever was inside.

"Goodness, the two of ye must've been playin' hard to get so thirsty!" Geillis said with a smile, though she'd shifted as close to the arm of the couch as she could so as to avoid even a droplet of water on her snakeskin print dress. 

"We went swimming!" Fiona exclaimed, slurping again at her straw despite her empty cup.

"Oi, enough with that noise," Geillis scolded playfully, taking the girls cups and announcing she'd get refills. "Are ye hungry?" When they nodded, Jamie started to get up from his seat but she insisted she could take them to fix their plates. She lead the girls off, looking back to wink at Claire, who lobbied back a middle finger scratching at her cheek, before they disappeared into the crowd of partygoers. 

"Glad to see yer curls are back, Sassenach," Jamie grinned, raising his bottle to clink it lightly against her glass before relaxing back into his chair and taking a sip. Claire flushed under his gaze, the way it caressed her curls, her face, her neck, though she noticed he pointedly refused to go lower. She could almost _feel_ it, like the pad of his thumb hovering just above her skin. She forced her eyes down, thankful for the excuse that came in her glass. Her cheeks always pinked when she drank, and Frank's attentions had already gotten her a little riled up. That was all it was.

"It wasn't pretty for a few days there there—I was almost worried they wouldn't come back the same," she replied, tousling her curls slightly despite the fact that the humid weather meant they were always plenty voluminous. "And how was Scotland?"

"Oh, it was braw," Jamie answered happily. He'd taken the girls on a two week visit with their cousins at Lallybroch before the start of the school year, and they hadn't had a chance to catch up since they'd returned home. "The girls had fun, I think. They missed ye, though. It was really verra cute—they told their cousins and their Auntie and Uncle all about ye, showed 'em the pictures of the fairy garden ye made an' all that."

Claire was speechless for a moment, truly touched by the idea of the girls, excited to tell their family about her.

"Jamie, that's—that is so sweet. Thank you, for telling me," she said, smiling as she watched the girls traipse back in their direction, each carrying their cups with Geillis trailing behind them with their plates. "I have nieces and nephews, back in England, on Frank's side. They lived several hours from us so we didn't see them much, but I do miss them...I really do love having you and the girls around."

"I'm grateful to ye, truly," Jamie said, leaning in as the trio drew closer. "We're lucky to have ye."

"Hope we're not interrupting anything," Geillis sang with a pointed look at her friend as she squeezed between the two of them and helped the girls get settled with their dinner. "And dinna worry, Fraser, they've got their fruits and veggies, so I'll take my leave—looks as though Miss Douglas could use some saving from all those lecherous young men after her Daddy's fortune."

**C** laire joined Frank for the better part of the evening after the girls returned to the pool for one final dip, but as the night wound down she found herself sitting with Jamie, Murtagh and Jocasta— _what was going on there,_ she wondered, though she thoroughly enjoyed watching whatever it was—with Fiona asleep in her lap and Nora positioned similarly in her father's lap as he regaled and Murtagh them with stories from their trip back to the highlands. Jamie lit up in the way he only did when talking of his home country and Claire couldn't help but be enthralled, hanging on his every word as he described in stunning detail a hike they'd taken along their family land. When she noticed Frank approaching from across the sprawling stone patio, the look in his eyes spoke of jealousy, clear as day and she had to admit she was pleased. He was always fun when he was jealous, and that would make her end game of the night even more enjoyable.  He came up behind her and bent to kiss the top of her head, his hand resting on his shoulder as he greeted the rest of the group.

"It's getting late, darling, shall we call it a night?" he suggested, the way he caressed the place where her neck met her shoulder as possessive as it was promising. 

"Aye, we should get these girls home," Jamie echoed the sentiment, shifting Nora in his arms so he could stand. 

"I'll take the wee one," Murtagh offered, and lifted Fiona out of Claire's arms. She stirred slightly and yawned, but fell easily back to sleep as he positioned her head carefully against his shoulder. 

Frank took Claire's hand after they bid everyone a quiet farewell and led her out to the waiting car, closing her door behind her and then sliding into the driver's seat. He looked over at her for a long moment, the tenderness in his face a remnant from the life they'd shared before. She met his eyes with a soft smile, resting her hand on top of his on the stick shift.

"You look—I like seeing you like that; with a child. Ye'll make a wonderful mother someday, Claire." He leaned over and kissed her, slow and sweet and ancient, somehow. She kissed him back, then pushed down on his thumb to put the car into drive. They'd driven like that on countless afternoons when they first met, her hand always resting there with on his on the stick of his first grown up car, as he spirited them off into the beautiful English countryside for a picnic or a weekend away at some sweet little rental cottage. She looked over at him from time to time on the drive back to the house, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she saw a flash of the man she'd fallen for looking back at her as the idled at red lights. 

_There wasn't a world in which that man would hurt her._

**H** e had her wrapped in his arms the second the front door shut behind them, placing kisses on her chin, her jaw, her neck. He thumbed the line of her knickers against her hip over her dress, pulling back just enough to whisper that he recalled she had a promise to keep, darkened eyes devouring her. She'd intended to leave him wanting, she really had. To push him off, tell him she was tired, see how he felt when _he_ got all worked up only to be abandoned. But that plan, that passive aggressive, cruel plan, was lost to her as she pushed him into an armchair in the sitting room, hiking up her dress as she sank down into his lap. Sex had always been their bridge back to one another, the place where they could meet no matter what happened, and as long as they had that— _and it was clear in this moment that they did—_ Claire had faith that everything else would work itself out. 

"We should—upstairs, get a—" he panted brokenly as she rolled her hips against his growing erection. 

She slowed her movements for a moment, pulling away from his lips to look down into his eyes. With a coy smile that spoke of a hope renewed, she told him not to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh sweet Claire, loving, loyal Claire. I had to do it to her. Don't hate me!
> 
> (And, of course, any quotes either direct or appropriated are not my property.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a two chapter day! I'm not so cruel as to leave you hanging on that ending for too too long. As always, thank you for reading and for your kind words, and I hope you enjoy!

**W** ith the girls peacefully transferred from their carseats into their beds, Jamie found himself out on the deck, watching as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. He tried, wanted desperately, in fact, to think about _anything_ else, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

_Claire._

It was as if she was trying to tempt him, showing up in that damnable dress. It hugged the lines of her body enough to make a man wonder about what was underneath, cut just so to display the swell of her breasts, and as the evening air began to roll in with a chill from the ocean’s shore he was painfully, _achingly_ aware that she had forgone a bra. The mere line of her bare shoulder, her skin still a pale, undeniably English hue, but now with a dusting of freckles where she got the most sun, was enough to make him stare if he didn’t keep himself on a short leash. And her hair, _Christ_ , her hair. His heart had clenched in his chest when he saw that it had returned to its God given state in his absence, curling in a halo round her face as though with a mind of its own. 

He’d given up denying his attraction to her the moment he’d seen her in that nightgown weeks ago; but tonight, as he’d watched how naturally she had fit amongst his family, sitting there with his youngest daughter dozing off safely in her arms, he had no choice but to give up something else. He couldn’t lie to himself any longer, passing it off as a mere physical attraction, all about pheromones and smooth skin and full lips, not the _woman_ who possessed them. That was no longer a possibility. Not when he’d seen her like that.

He _wanted_ her, deep in his bones, in a way he’d never wanted before. It was like a physical pull, some unseen force that drew him to her despite every reality he fought to remind himself of, the _ring_ on her finger, the _man_ who’s bed and home and life she shared. She belonged to someone else and he was doomed to sit here, out under the stars of a land that wasn’t his, the ache in his heart still worth every moment he and his daughters got to spend with her.

“Thought I’d find ye out here.” 

He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard Murtagh slide the back door closed behind him but he was there, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in hand.

“Murtagh—thought perhaps I wouldna see ye home tonight,” Jamie teased, shooting him a knowing look as he took up a seat across the coffee table and poured them each a dram. Jamie took his gratefully, taking a long sip before he met his godfather’s eyes with a expectation in his eyes.

“I was merely seein’ Jocasta home,” Murtagh answered, though his ruddy cheeks and refusal to meet Jamie’s eyes said otherwise. “She invited me inside for a bit, we talked.”

“Aye?” Jamie asked with a grin. He’d never seen Murtagh show any real interest in a woman and suspected he still held a flame for his mother, Ellen, but as of late he’d been spending much of his free time with Jocasta and Jamie was happy to see it, for both their sakes—that, and he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to tease his godfather. 

“Aye, and that’s all ye need to ken,” Murtagh said sternly, though a smile still tugged at his lips beneath his bushy mustache. “We’ve got more important matters to address.”

“And what might that be?” Jamie feigned, though he knew he was in for a hell of talk.

“Dinna play the fool wi’ me, laddie, I’ve known ye since ye were still shittin’ in yer pants,” Murtagh replied, bracing himself with his elbows on his knees to study his godson’s face. “I see the way ye look at the lass. Ye hang on her every word. I ken its no’ exactly my place but she’s _marrit_ , Jamie. Ye canna ignore that just because she’s bonnie.”

Jamie looked down into his glass, a little ashamed that he’d been caught so easily.

“No, I ken yer right,” he sighed, tossing back the rest of his whiskey and holding out his glass for a refill. “Ye dinna think she’s noticed, do ye?” 

“No, no I dinna think so,” Murtagh answered quickly, though in truth he’d noticed similar lingering glances from Claire as well.

_But Jamie didn’t need to ken that._

“I’ve never kent anyone like her,” Jamie admitted, sounding as heartsick as he had when he’d phoned from Paris during his time at the university to inform Murtagh that Annelise had broken up with him. That had been short lived and ultimately rather trivial, but the sadness in Jamie’s voice rang true, just as it did now. “She’s—I dinna ken what it is, it’s like there’s this—this _thing_ pulling me to her even though I ken well it’s impossible.”

“Aye, lad, I ken the feeling,” Murtagh answered, his voice sounding far away. “Ye find a way through it—and I ken she’s important to ye as a friend as well, just as yer Mam was to me. It gets easier, with time.”

“I hope it does,” Jamie answered honestly, tipping his head to lean against the back of the chair. 

Murtagh patted him on the leg, knowing that he had done all he could for tonight. Jamie would have to sit with his own soul to work this one out. With his glass in hand, he said one final goodnight before he set off along the stone path toward the guest house. 

“Daddy! Daddy daddy daddy!” Fiona came screaming, fright evident in her voice as she fumbled with the lock on the back door before pulling it open with all her might. “Daddy, Nora got a ouchie!”

**A** n incessant banging at the front door pulled Claire from her light, sated sleep, the afterglow making her slow to wake. But when she was finally able to make out the accompanying shouts of her name she, rolled off of Frank’s chest and bolted out of bed, pulling on a long sleep shirt as she hurried downstairs to the door. She found Murtagh, whom she'd only met a few times but was already quite fond of, standing on the other side with a crease to his brow that suggested something serious. 

“Jamie said yer a doctor?” he asked as soon as she'd opened the door, looking uneasy as he searched her face.

“I—yes. Murtagh, what’s happened?” 

“I’ll tell ye on the way.”

Claire disappeared back into the house for a moment, returning with a boxy leather bag and following him swiftly next door. He explained through shaky, panicked breaths that Nora had rolled out of bed and, they suspected, bumped her head on the corner of her night table on the way. She was bleeding, but she was talking and seemed alert. They’d given her children’s Tylenol to ease the pain.

“Good, good, acetaminophen isn’t a blood thinner,” Claire muttered to herself as she followed Murtagh up the staircase and into the girls bathroom. Jamie was sitting on the closed toilet with Nora curled up against his bare chest, blood still seeping from the gash in her forehead. In any other situation she would been stalled in her tracks at the sight of Jamie’s finely muscled torso, enthralled by the details of him she hadn’t yet learned, but all her focus went to Nora, the corner of her lips ticking up ever so slightly when she saw Claire.

Kneeling before them, she took Nora’s small hand in her own, her demeanor as calm as though she were in the operating room despite the marked increase in her heartbeat, the way her lungs fought against her will to follow suit. 

_This is precisely why doctors don’t treat people they know._

“Did you have a fall, sweetheart?” she asked, gingerly smoothing the little girl’s sleep-mussed auburn hair back from her forehead. Then, glancing away for a moment: “Murtagh, will you get me a clip for this?” 

Nora nodded, her lower lip quivering as Claire pinned her hair back to keep it out of the cut. Jamie rubbed her back gently, the pounding of his heart already subsiding with Claire’s mere presence. She was incredibly even keeled, her voice not betraying anything as she talked to Nora, distracting her as she gently dabbed at the wound with a dampened towel. 

“Oww,” Nora whimpered, a few tears slipping down her cheeks as Claire dabbed the towel directly over the cut to get at the last of the blood.

“I know darling, I’m sorry. You're doing such a good job,” Claire cooed, her heart tight in her chest at the thought of putting Nora through any more pain. When she finally got a clear look at the damage, though, she was relieved to see that a trip to the A&E wouldn’t be necessary tonight. The gash was relatively deep, but the bleeding had slowed considerably and it wasn’t so bad that stitches would be necessary. She stood to throw the soiled towels into the hamper in the corner, speaking quietly to Jamie as she did so.

“She’ll be fine, I’m glad you had Murtagh come and get me—saved you a trip to the A&E. Those can be scary for little ones.”

“She willna' need stitches then?” Jamie asked, his hand cupped over Nora’s ear so she didn’t hear anything that might frighten her.

“She won’t, and I’ll put some numbing cream on it along with the antiseptic so it doesn’t hurt quite so much. Hopefully that’ll make it a little easier for her to fall back asleep,” Claire answered lowly, digging through her medical bag for the supplies she’d need.

“Jamie?” Murtagh poked his head around the bathroom door. “I put Fiona down in yer bed and she seems to be sleeping soundly. If everything’s under control here, I’ll take my leave?”

Claire turned her attention back to Nora once Murtagh said goodnight, perching on the side of the tub now with her instruments laid out on a clean towel on the back of the toilet. Sensing what she needed from him, Jamie turned so he was facing her, one leg maneuvering its way between hers, so that she had the best possible angle to bandage Nora’s forehead.

“Alright Miss Nora, time to get you all fixed up; how does that sound?” Claire asked, squeezing numbing cream and Neosporin onto a q-tip. She smoothed it gently over the cut, fighting the urge to wince each time Nora did, but it was over soon enough and Nora remarked with wonder that it didn’t hurt any more. 

“Maybe Claire sprinkled some special fairy dust on it to make it feel all better,” Jamie suggested, chuckling as Nora looked up at him with big eyes.

"Daddy is Claire really a fairy?" she asked with wonder in her voice, her poor attempt at whispering bringing a smile to Claire's lips as she peeled the back off of the first butterfly bandage and placed it over the wound. 

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Claire teased, winking at Nora as she got the second bandage in place. "All done! That wasn't too bad, was it?" 

Nora shook her head, sliding off of Jamie's lap and reaching her arms up to Claire, who lifted her easily into a hug, topping it off with a kiss to the unscathed side of her forehead. 

"You are _so_ brave," she whispered into the little girl's ear, watching with absolute joy as Nora smiled at the compliment.

"Alright lass, don't get too excited—let's get ye back to bed, hmm? Fiona's sleeping in my room, would ye like to go lay down wi' her?"

"Only if Doctor Claire tucks me in," Nora declared after a moment, her voice charmingly firm even as she yawned. With a nod of thanks, Jamie took Claire into his darkened bedroom, his hand hovering on her back to make sure she avoided all possible tripping hazards, common as they were in a house with two small girls. He pulled back the covers and Claire laid her down, both adults saying their goodnights in turn. As Claire watched Jamie whispering to his daughter an ache settled into her heart that she couldn't shake, even as he closed the bedroom door softly and they were in the light again. 

He stared at her wordlessly for a moment before pulling her tight against him. Claire let her arms wind around his back, hoping he couldn't feel the way her palms shook as they rested on his warm, bare skin. They released each other after what felt like a glorious eternity, and when she stepped back she found she could barely meet his piercing blue eyes as he thanked her.

"It was nothing, Jamie. Like I said, I'm glad you called me."

"Neither of them have ever been hurt like that before," he said with a shaky exhale as he mopped at the spots of blood around the bathroom and Claire packed up her medical kit. "I suppose I'm lucky it took this long but Christ, I dinna think I've ever been so scared." He paused a moment, watching Claire from behind as she closed the clasp on her bag. Then, his voice quieter, he said "Ye've a way wi' healing, Claire. Ye really should look into getting that medical license."

Claire smiled to herself, trying to hide how pleased she was with the compliment as she followed Jamie down the stairs to the front door. When she looked back towards the house from her own doorstep, she found Jamie watching to make sure she got home safe.

_It's not even a full minute's walk,_ she thought to herself, offering a final smile and a wave before she disappeared through the door. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday and happy Mothers Day to all you mamas out there! It's been a bit longer than usual between updates, so I'm sorry to make you wait - I've got a couple other Jamie/Claire stories floating around in my head that demanded my attention this week, so keep your eyes peeled for those in the near future!  
> I'm not sure if I'm 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I couldn't see what else to do with it, so here it is. It's possible I'll go back at some point and do more edits on the whole story, but that's a long ways in the future. So, for now, enjoy!  
> And might I humbly suggest a musical pairing for the end of the chapter. Better Than by Lake Street Dive is the song that's playing in their world, so if you feel so moved, I'd play it starting at "Christ man, get yer heid about ye." It encompasses the whole thing they've got going pretty perfectly, if I do say so myself.  
> As always, thank you for reading and for your comments, I love hearing what you think. Happy reading!

**C** laire sat at the dining room table with her chin resting in her hand, staring at the bouquet before her with narrowed eyes. It had been waiting on her doorstep when she arrived home from brunch, along with a drawing from each of the girls and a card inviting her to Jamie’s housewarming party the following weekend. It was almost comically large and didn’t appear to be the kind of bouquet one simply picked out of a cooler at the grocery store; no, this was hand selected, and by the looks of it from a very talented florist. There was something wild about it, verging almost on frenzied with the bursts of vibrant color; and something more than that as well. It would be silly to believe that Jamie had any knowledge of what these flowers meant, and more so that he would have known that she did as well, but that didn’t stop Claire from running down the list.

Purple hydrangeas, for heartfelt emotions and deep gratitude. Honeysuckle, for devoted affection. Hyacinth, meaning the giver was charmed by the receiver’s loveliness _._ Deep red amaranths hanging down over the side of the vase that spoke of feelings never to fade. Wild roses with their bright pink hue, symbolizing pleasure and pain. Amaryllis, from the Greek _to sparkle,_ which in times gone by was often used to reference to a strong, confident, beautiful woman. Heather with its earthy, herbal scent, undeniably Scottish; bright yellow Gladiolus for integrity and infatuation and finally, delicate pink Camellias that told of a deep longing. Claire couldn’t help but notice that while the stunning blooms spoke of affection and desire, none symbolized love. 

_This had_ _to be a coincidence._

With Frank at the office doing extra preparations for an upcoming historical conference in Atlanta Claire was left alone with her musings, moving about her day in something of a fog, finding herself again and again in the entryway to the dining room _staring_ at that bouquet. 

_This couldn’t be a coincidence._

Sitting in her office writing out a thank you note to the couple who’d hosted them at the country club for their first Labor Day, a photo from her wedding day stared her down from its perch on her desk. The person in that picture, not quite a girl and not quite a woman, was flush with joy, beaming at the camera. Twenty five seemed like lightyears ago now. That had been the consummate happiest day of her life—after a lifetime of moving country to country, living out of suitcases and uprooting herself again and again, she finally had something permanent. She had an _anchor_ , and he was romantic and thoughtful, he made her laugh, he made her feel safe and loved. Frank was the first home she’d known.

But she wasn’t so naive as to believe that the man in that photograph was the man who was shut away in his office down the hall now. Nor was she the girl-woman who stood beside him. They’d weathered nearly twenty years as a couple, always returning effortlessly to each other to find how they fit together as life shaped and reshaped the both of them. It didn’t feel so easy anymore, and slowly, it dawned on Claire that she was at a loss for what to do. 

_What if it wasn’t a coincidence?_

**T** hat thought, that niggling, terrifying, _exhilarating_ thought plagued her, and with Frank out of town there was little to distract her. In the midst of a normal day she’d feel it pressing in from the edges of her consciousness until all she could think about was Jamie Fraser and that hug and the damn bouquet. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the relief that Nora was alright, but she had felt _something_ in that moment, something she couldn’t find the words for no matter how many nights she spent tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell was happening to her. 

She kept to herself that week, save for checking on Nora’s cut. Having a job to do gave her an out. When she came as Doctor Claire, as the girls affectionally called her, she could allow everything else to fall away so it could be clinical, easy. It pained her to make excuses when they asked if she would stay, but she didn’t trust herself to be around Jamie and not do anything in her power to feel that thingagain.

It frightened her, the thing that she couldn’t put words to. She tried and failed over and over to name it, to categorize it. If she knew what it was, she had the power. But the answer evaded her no matter how many times she tried. It was driving her mad, but there were a hundred reasons she couldn’t simply avoid him forever. As the days drew on and the night of the party closed in, she found she wanted desperately to see him, and that scared her most of all.

**T** he party was in full swing and Jamie surveyed the large, open rooms that made up the first floor of his house with a heart full of gratitude. Having lived in the same town for nearly his entire life, he had never had to make friends as an adult, and the prospect had brought about some anxiety for him when he decided to relocate and settled on Charleston. To see his house alive with people, laughing, drinking and enjoying themselves as the children ran about and played was a relief.

Claire’s absence didn’t go unnoticed, though, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between them. He’d grown accustomed to seeing her often, but since Labor Day he had hardly seen her. She’d stopped by a handful of times to check on Nora and ensure she was healing properly, but always with a quick reason to leave. Even as he chatted with friends, poured drinks and made plates for the girls, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. 

_Had she felt that same incandescent something he had, when he held her in his arms?_

It stood to reason with as much as it had unnerved him, she might be feeling similarly. But where he was eager, _aching_ even to see her again, she was withdrawn.

_Had he scared her off?_

He stayed close to the front door, not wanting to leave her waiting for even a second when, or _if_ , she did arrive, talking distractedly with a few parents from the girls school. When the doorbell finally did chime, he knew it was her before he even moved a muscle to answer it. Still, the sight of her standing on his doorstep hit him like a train. 

Claire looked bonnie as always in a simple, dark wrap dress tied to one side at her waist that accentuated the flare of her hips. Her hair was especially full, and appeared soft to the touch. How badly he yearned to reach out and twirl a strand around his finger, or tuck a curl behind her ear. He imagined Frank, doing just that as he leaned in to kiss her, his _wife_ , the image an unsettling reminder that it was not his place to look at her like this. 

She breathed his name like a prayer, like she’d had the wind knocked out of her, like she’d half expected to find someone else there. Before he could think better of it, he opened his arms and Claire stepped easily into them as if it were completely normal, the light, herbal scent of her hair consuming him even as they parted. 

The _thing_ was still here, still sparkling between them and for a moment, as he met her amber eyes, he could swear he saw her feel it, too. 

“I’m glad ye came,” he said softly, moving aside as she stepped past him. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” came her reply, like a salve to his worried heart. Nothing was wrong, she wasn’t upset, she wasn’t abandoning him. They stared at each other for a long moment, as if neither could bear to look away, and were interrupted only by an excited chorus of Claire’s name as Nora and Fiona came dashing towards them.

Jamie looked on as she squatted down just in time to catch one girl in each arm, rocking playfully from side to side as she hugged them. She whispered to them for a moment, then reached behind her to present each of them with a gift bag that they each tore into without a second thought. They pulled out book after book, and finally a little plastic case of nail varnish for each girl, making Jamie’s heart squeeze in his chest. They almost always came home from Claire’s house with their nails painted, the color picked off by the time they went to bed. In her recent absence, his daughters had begun to ask him if he could paint them, but being a single father that was something he didn’t have around the house, nor did he know quite how it was done. It served as an aching reminder of the little things they had lost when they lost their mother. Claire assured the girls that she would teach their father how to paint their nails so that they could do it any time they wanted, and then they were running back off into the house behind a gaggle of their friends. 

“You’ll be an expert in no time,” Claire chaffed as she stood up and brushed off the skirt of her dress, smirking as she retrieved the bottle of Fishers Gin she’d left on the console to hand to Jamie. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about _you._ ”

“Ye dinna have to do any of that, Sassenach,” he said weaving through guests as he lead her towards the kitchen.

“It’s my pleasure,” Claire replied, “especially after that bouquet you brought me—thank you again. It’s…it’s stunning, Jamie.” 

He felt studied under her gaze as she said it, but didn’t mind it one bit.

“Just a wee way to thank ye for fixin’ up Nora’s forehead. What can I get ye to drink? We’ve wine, rosé, cocktails…”

“Who might be making that cocktail, if I so choose?” she asked with a smirk, leaning back against the counter beside him. 

“The bartender, of course,” Jamie replied with a wink that left her more than a little flustered.

“Mmm, in that case…a Moscow Mule?”’

She watched him intently, distracted by his hands and forearms moving effortlessly through his workspace as he fixed her drink. It was captivating, the way his tendons flexed and extended beneath his skin and she began to visualize what lay beneath his flesh as she observed him. First the bones, carpals meeting with metacarpals, the phalanges beginning at the knuckle, each of the three thinner in turn...

"Claire?"

"What? Oh—I'm sorry, what did you say? I was..."

"I asked where Frank was," Jamie replied, his hand curving around the knife handle as he sliced into a lime.

"Oh." Frank was the last thing she wanted to talk about tonight, especially with Jamie, but she couldn't well dodge the subject now. "He's at a historical conference in Atlanta. Something to do with the Civil War, I'm not really sure."

"And ye stayed here all alone? Couldna bear to miss to a wild party, could ye?" The corner of his lip twitched up at that and he handed her the weighty copper mug.

"Mug and all, aren't you fancy?" she hummed, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she took a sip. "Mm—Jamie, this is delicious! I would have gone but he—the schedule was such that we wouldn't have gotten much time together anyway, so I figured might as well skip finding a cat sitter."

"I suppose ye've been getting up to plenty of mischief in his absence, then?"

_You're not wrong,_ Claire thought wryly to herself. _I've been m_ _asturbating. Relatively frequently. Trying not to think about you while I'm at it. Failing, usually._

"I think you've mistaken me for a far more exciting woman."  


"Och, I find ye plenty exciting."

There it was, that tingle in her belly that made itself known every time he said something that _could_ possibly be taken as flirtation—which happened often. But she could never quite tell with him, if that was his intention or if she was inventing intonations and meanings that weren't there in the first place. The wondering drove her a little crazy, but it was exciting, too. It kept her on her feet, and she always came back for more. 

"If ye do get lonely, ye ken yer always welcome here, Sassenach. Ye won't find any one of us complaining."

"Jamie dear, d'ye mind terribly if I steal her away?" Geillis queried, coming up behind Claire with a hand hovering between her shoulder blades. "I'll give her back, ye have my word."

_If only she were mine to be stolen,_ Jamie mused, nodding and watching the sway of her hips as they disappeared out onto the deck. 

**"H** ave ye anything tae say for yerself, Randall? Cause I dinna ken quite what I just saw," Geillis demanded emphatically, thin brows threatening to invade her hairline as she stared Claire down expectantly.

"I might if I had a clue what your'e talking about."

"Ye stop playin' dumb right this second, ye ken exactly what I'm talkin' about."

"I truly don't, so _please_ elaborate, because I'm quite interested in what could possibly inspire this kind of reaction," Claire replied playfully, watching Geillis over the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

"Weel, Jamie has been fair distracted since I've been here. Then _ye_ walked in and he hugged ye for forty-five minutes, the two of ye couldna stop makin' eyes at each other, and he watched ye walked out here like he was ready tae eat ye alive. And _I_ made my own cocktail. So I'll repeat, have ye _anything_ tae say for yerself?"

"Geillis! Lower your voice, my god," Claire hissed, all the while running some quick calculations on what her answer would be. It wasn't as if she hadn't considered telling her—a part of her so badly wanted someone to confide in so she didn't have to carry this alone. It wasn't light, this nameless _thing_ she'd held, and that was barely after a week. The two of them had developed a trust, and where before she wasn't always certain that what happened with Geillis stayed with Geillis, she knew now that anything of true importance was safe with her. Still, Geillis was wilder than she, and she suspected she'd be met with an encouragement to follow her feelings that she didn't think would be particularly helpful. Now, the moments she'd spent over the past few days with her thumb hovering over the call button had reached a head, and she no longer had the luxury to think it over like she had before. She had to say _something._

"Geillis, I think you're over reacting _ever_ so slightly," she ventured with a good natured tone.

_Tread carefully._

"He's attractive, I'll give you that. But we're—friends, that's really all there is to it."

She could see in Geillis' squinting green eyes that she didn't believe her for a second, but she had the good grace not to pry any further and the two were swept easily back into the swing of things.

**C** laire could hardly remember having this much fun at a party in a long time. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember the last time she'd even gone to a party like this. Even towards the end of their time in Oxford, it had been galas and dinners for hospital or the university, stiff with formality and shop talk. This was different, free from ulterior motives. Just people, together, getting to know one another and enjoying their time. She loved that the children were here, too. They were left at home for the kinds of functions she and Frank attended, deemed too messy, too unpredictable. _Too human,_ she thought, _not yet poisoned with the idea of perfection, and therefore kept neatly away._ Tonight, though, they brought an energy that was contagious, weaving through the room and pulling parents and their friends into games and play for awhile between conversations. These were the kinds of things she'd like to host. _Someday._

Every once in a while, she'd catch Jamie's eye from across the room, or feel the weight of gaze on her like a prickling up her spine. It gave her a little thrill, intoxicated her just as much as the cocktails, the idea that out of everyone in a room full of people, _she_ was the one he couldn't help but return to. She pondered if he noticed the same thing in her, if he could feel her eyes burning into him as he refreshed drinks or played with the children. She didn't know whether or not she wanted him to.

Eventually it got late, and she watched as people looked with surprise at their phones or watches, blissfully unaware of the passage of time. Parents gathered up their yawning children and slung diaper bags over their shoulders, exiting quietly in hopes of not waking the ones who'd dozed off in their arms or carseats. After them it was the couples, a little looser for the lack of responsibility, tapping about on their phones to hail cars, stumbling here and there with arms slung low around hips or hands clasped together. 

As Jamie saw people off, Claire found herself tidying, collecting dishes from around the house to stack beside the sink. The girls, no longer interested in saying goodbye at the door with Jamie, helped, slow moving and powering through yawns with claims that they weren't tired at all. 

"Ye dinna have to do that," Jamie remarked as he sidled up beside her at the sink, setting down a few glasses from the front room. Claire looked up from her work, which at that point had consisted of dumping half eaten food into the _disposal_ , and realized with a touch of embarrassment that she was the last one there. 

"You know, I still can't get used to these things." She gestured to the disposal, taking a plate from Nora's outstretched hand and dumping it into the sink.

"Aye, neither can we," Jamie answered, scooping up Fiona when she tugged at his pants. "They're odd—why no' just have a bin for it? Turn it into compost."

"Daddy," Fiona asked, mouth gaping as she yawned. "Can Claire read us a new book before bed?"

Jamie looked to Claire, a silent question, that she answered with a nod, unable as usual to deny them anything. 

"Why don't the two of ye go upstairs and get ready for bed, and we'll be upstairs in a minute, alright?"

**"D** addy, ye forgot the bedtime song!" Nora complained, her voice heavy with sleep just as Claire and Jamie were about to leave the girls darkened bedroom. "Will Claire sing it with ye?"

"I dinna ken if Claire kens it," Jamie replied, easing back into the room to kneel between the foots of their beds. Claire remained leaning against the doorframe, watching the little girls settle back into their beds and pull the covers up to their chins as Jamie began to sing. He was terribly tone deaf, and she found it only made him all the more charming.   


_By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes_

_Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond_

_Where me and my true love forever long to go_

_On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond_

_Oh you take the high road and I'll take the low road_

_And I'll be in Scotland before ye_

_For me and my true love will never meet again_

_On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond_

Claire did know the song, and joined in softly, feeling that familiar ache in her chest as Jamie kissed both of his daughters one final time before they snuck out of the room and down the stairs.

"Yer sweet to them," Jamie said quietly.

"They're sweet to me," Claire replied with a soft laugh, hovering near the kitchen island as Jamie pulled out two fresh lowballs and a bottle of whiskey secreted away in the cabinet. 

"Drink?"

"James Fraser, are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked with a smirk, though she accepted the glass when he offered and took a sip.

"Sassenach, if I were trying to get ye drunk that's no' what I'd give ye," he replied, grabbing the bottle off the counter and topping her up considerably with a cheeky glint in his eye. " _That_ looks about right." He did the same for himself, then motioned for her to join him on the couch. She followed, curling her legs beneath herself as she settled into the dark leather. 

"You're—you're raising two of the most wonderful children I've ever known, Jamie," she said, raising her eyes to meet his for a moment before they returned to swim in the amber liquid within her glass. "I hope you know that. Don't tell Frank I said this, but I like them far better than my own nieces and nephews." 

"Yer secrets safe wi' me," Jamie replied with a laugh. "Thank ye, truly. I can only hope I'm doin' the right thing for the lassies, movin' here and all that. Ye can never really know, ye just have tae do, an' hope for the best."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here, at least."

**J** amie hadn't a clue how much time—nor how many drinks— had passed when Claire re-situated herself, raising up on her knees and leaning past him on the couch to retrieve the bottle of whiskey behind him. The v-neck of her dress was tantalizingly close to his face, revealing more of the milky skin of her breasts as she leaned over. She smelled of violets, and his mind swam with the thought that, if he wanted to, if he were _mad,_ he could bend his neck just slightly and press his lips there, taste that soft, forbidden skin. He wondered as she pulled away, raising the bottle victoriously, if she would make a sound.

_Christ, man, get yer heid about ye before ye ruin this._

"Well, if you were trying to get me drunk I'm pleased to say you've succeeded," she said with a sparkle in her eyes as she poured a splash into her glass.

"A fisherman always sees another fisherman at sea," Jamie answered, taking the bottle from her and doing the same. Clinking their glasses together, both parties found themselves swimming in the eyes of the other. They stayed like that for a long moment, shy and pink-cheeked yet afraid to look away.

"Dance wi'me?" Jamie asked finally, his eyes still locked on hers. The music was still playing on a soft loop from before, this particular song slow and smooth, driven by the deep, earthy bass line. Jamie stumbled slightly as he stood from the couch and Claire caught him, both laughing too hard to realize that their bodies had melted together before they could stop it. 

_But I turn down the lights, give up without a fight_

_Better than pretending, to know what's wrong or what's right_

_Better than being, some fool's bride_

Neither could tell who moved first, but it didn't matter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this won't be quite so distasteful a cliffhanger as the Frank one, but I couldn't let y'all off too easy.  
> Also, I'm back on tumblr now? I don't now, it's quarantine, I've got a lot of time on my hands. There isn't much of anything up yet, but it's there if you wanna hang out or send prompts or anything. Sassenachthroughtime dot tumblr dot com.


	10. Chapter 10

**C** laire was dizzy, but it wasn't with drink. No, it was as if she'd regained her wits and lost them anew all in the space of a single heartbeat. She didn't know if Jamie kissed her or she kissed him, but it felt as though at any moment she would float right up out of her body and the only thing tethering her to the ground was the press of his lips against hers. He tasted like whiskey, like _Jamie,_ more perfect than any figment of her imagination. His hands, caressing and grasping as they wandered the plane of her back, ventured lower to squeeze her ass, pulling her hips flush with his. She felt the rumble of a moan from deep in his chest and fisted his shirt in her hand where it laid over his racing heart, her knees threatening to buckle when the sound finally reached her ear, like music made just for her. She answered in kind, swiping her tongue over his bottom lip, a silent plea for more. He opened to her eagerly, his tongue in her mouth a deliriously thrilling invasion as he pulled her towards the couch. She followed, not daring to break the kiss as she pushed him down and sank into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. She could feel him there, hot and pulsing against her even through his jeans, her stomach dropping at the thought that _she_ had done that to him. He growled as she bit at his bottom lip, his hands on her hips in a bruising grip as he dragged her core along his length over and over. She mewled against his lips, his name escaping in broken, breathy chants as she fought against his grasp to speed up. But Jamie, anchored by the slow, sensuous bass and dead set on drawing their pleasure out for as long as he could, wouldn't allow her that. She was helpless but to take what he would give her, her open lips hovering over his as she wove her fingers between strands of auburn hair.

But, as it seemed she had to learn time and time again, good things didn't last; and when the song changed, their bodies interrupted by an unfamiliar rhythm, reality dropped like a wall between them. Claire scrambled about of his lap like she had been scalded, her heartbeat thumping in her ears as she realized with rising panic what she had done. His eyes, once dark with unrestrained lust, searched her face for an explanation and all she could do was stare back, her hand shaking against her slackened jaw. The confusion written across his face broke her, just a little, and it was all she could do to force her feet carry her towards the door, ignoring the plea that was her name as he followed. With a teary apology she took off into the yard, running so fast her heels barely had time to sink into the grass beneath her. 

Alone in the safety of her foyer she finally fell apart, sagging as she braced herself against the sideboard. Her wedding ring caught a sliver of the dim light and glinted up at her, an unkind reminder of the vow she had so recklessly broken. 

_Frank._

It was true that he had been distant in the months since they moved, overcritical of her and perhaps even a little controlling, but he hardly deserved _this._ He loved her—every marriage had its rough patches. Still, the thought nagged at her that she'd been with Frank for half her life and not _once_ had he made her feel anything close to that which she had just experienced. Frank was never one to be overcome by anything, passion included, but that was so much of why she loved him. He was like a rock in a river; steadfast and _safe_. Maybe the kind of unbridled desire Jamie had shown her was something she only needed once. She certainly hadn't found it with the sweet, clumsy Egyptian boy she'd snuck away with on the last night of one of Uncle Lamb's digs when she was sixteen, nor with her first year biology lab partner or the nameless fourth year at an end of the semester party. She hadn't found it with the lanky teacher's assistant who blushed every time she looked at him for the first several months they knew each other, but with him she had found _home_ and that had to be worth more, didn't it?

_Maybe he doesn't need to know,_ Claire thought as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet for Advil. It was self serving and she wasn't particularly fond of the idea that she'd carry a secret to her grave, but this was just a mistake. One tiny, _drunken_ mistake that would likely cause far more harm than it was worth. She'd wake up tomorrow to a world that was still turning, and she could move along right with it—this only had to be as significant as she allowed it to be. 

_He doesn't need to know,_ she repeated in her mind as she set two of the little red pills on her bedside table for the next morning, along with a tall glass of water. Careful not to disturb Posey, who was curled in a little white ball at the foot of the bed, she slipped into the sheets and tried to remedy her frayed nerves. 

But the longer she lay there in the dark, restless and frustrated and all too aware of the ache between her thighs demanding attention, her thoughts of Frank soured, and eventually faded away all together when faced with the thoughts of Jamie that could no longer be ignored. Everything about him stood in stark contrast to her husband—perhaps that was where the excitement lie. Just in something different. In her heart of hearts Claire knew that wasn't even the beginning of the truth. No, the appeal was simply _Jamie_.

Resigned to her fate as she slipped her hand beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts, for once she made no attempt to keep him from her mind. 

_Just this once._

**"J** amie?"

Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, but perhaps that was due to the fact that she'd hardly spoken a word aloud all day. She'd spent her day secreted away in the echoing chambers of her house, first nursing a considerable hangover and then, when that no longer proved to be enough of a distraction from her present circumstances, flitting about from activity to activity to try and keep her mind busy. But by nightfall she was at a loss, no diversion enough to keep her at ease. There was a choice to be made as to how exactly she was going to handle things. What had happened with Jamie wouldn't ever happen again, of that much she was sure. But it felt wrong to ignore it, to go on as if nothing had ever happened. Jamie deserved more than that. The idea of facing him was hardly appealing, but she hoped that doing it would bring her closer to whatever kind of peace she could find in all this. 

Hovering tentatively at the base of his porch steps, she watched as he turned toward the sound of her voice, his form unfurling from its place hunched over the railing until he was standing at his full height. He looked surprised, if not stunned, to see her, but he didn't look upset.

_Thank God._

More than anything, he looked _beautiful_. 

"Claire," he breathed, clearing his throat and gesturing for her to join him on the deck. She took the stairs slowly, afraid that if she got too close the gravity she'd felt the night before would return and she'd be powerless to stop herself. He didn't say anything more, just stared at her. Faced with the lines etched in his brow and the tight crease of his mouth, she longed for things to be different, that she were free to go to him and erase them with the pad of her thumb or the press of her lips. And she hated herself for wishing it.

"I thought we should...talk about—last night," she finally uttered, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she awaited his answer.

"Aye," he said, a grave tone in his voice. "Can I get ye anything to drink? I've whiskey, wine, water..."

"No, no, thank you. I think—I should be clear headed for this." 

"May I...ask ye a question then, Claire?" She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and pulled her fuzzy green cardigan tighter around her as if somehow she could shield herself from the conversation at hand. "Do ye regret it?" 

His voice almost shook, full of restrained emotion, his eyes much the same. He looked uncertain, almost fearful of her answer, and Claire ached to see him so. She was suddenly afraid she would cry, forced to steel herself against her own heart to get through this. Faced with Jamie Fraser, she found it impossible to tuck her feelings neatly away like she so often could. 

"This would be easier if I could lie to you," she said in an attempt to lighten the mood, though her laugh was devoid of humor. She breathed through the tightness in her chest, willing it to go away and with it the tears that had begun to wet her eyes. She'd expected this to be difficult, but she hadn't expected it to splinter the heart the way it was. He was suddenly closer than she remembered him being, _too_ close, but she remained rooted to the spot, her breath shallow as she finally uttered to him the answer that so unnerved her, her eyes downcast as if that would make it any easier. 

"No."

"No?" Jamie questioned, his low Scottish burr wrapping itself around her without the need for touch.

"No," she repeated, daring to meet his eye for just a moment before a tear escaped down her cheek and she brushed at it, frustrated by her inability to contain herself. "But we—it's not...I can't, Jamie."

"Aye, I ken it. I'm sorry tae have put ye in such a position. That was—that was wrong of me." He looked so tortured by his own indiscretion that she couldn't stop herself from reaching out for his hand, holding it tightly between her own, finally able to look at him for more than a second or two.

"You didn't put me in any position I didn't welcome, Jamie," she assured him, the urgency heavy in her voice. She wouldn't have him weighed down with the same guilt she was. 

"No, Claire, I—I ought to have acted better than that," he said, pulling his hand away as he turned and paced the wood planks of the deck, shaking his head. "I—took _advantage_ of ye, knowin' full well ye have a husband at home. It was greedy, and—and irresponsible and—Christ, I hope ye dinna think any less of me. I hope you’ll still be here, for the lassies. It’d break my heart tae—"

" _Jamie_." Claire took him by the shoulders and turned him back to her, desperate to convince him he wasn't to blame for any of this, that absolutely nothing had to change between them.

She'd had something to say, she _knew_ she did, but when she met the tempest in his eyes it was lost. He was so close she could feel the heat emanating off of his tense form, the mere smell of him bringing her back to the previous night. "Jamie?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat when she realized she was powerless to stop herself from what she was about to say. "I want—"

"Claire," he warned as if he could read her mind, his breath caressing her lips. 

"I want you to kiss me again." Her voice quivered, barely above a whisper, but he heard her. She could see it in his eyes, in the way his jaw tensed and the tendons in his neck bulged slightly. 

" _Claire_ ," he said again. The sheer restraint he showed only made her want him more.

"Please," she breathed, pressing herself that much closer to him.

"Claire, if I...I dinna think I can stop myself," he confessed, though his hands flexing against her hips betrayed him.

"Then don't," she whispered, surprised by her own boldness as she ghosted her lips over his. 

The sheer force of his arms encircling her waist, nearly lifting her off her feet as he crushed her to him, knocked the winded out of her and she gasped into the equally forceful meeting of their lips, alight with the same hot, glittering _something_ she'd felt the first time they kissed. She anchored her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck as he tugged at her lower lip with his teeth, already feeling the familiar quivers of anticipation between her thighs at his attentions. Jamie walked them toward the door, holding her up as she stumbled, lost as she was to everything but the way he kissed her. As he fumbled with the door behind her, it occurred to Claire in the recesses of her mind that if she wanted to stop this, now would be the time. But then he was hoisting her into his arms with ease and she shrieked, giggling as he carried her toward the staircase. There wasn't a cell in her body that didn't want this, consequences be damned.

Jamie shushed her as they ascended the stairs—the last thing they needed was to wake either one of his precocious daughters—so she busied her mouth instead with the sensitive skin of his neck, his pulse racing against her lips as she sucked just shy of leaving a mark. With the door to his bedroom closed safely behind them he set her back on her feet, allowing his hands to slide greedily over her curves as he did so.

"Yer a wee minx, Sassenach."

His honeyed voice made her knees weak, rumbling against her ear as he slipped two fingers into the waistband of her leggings and pulled her back to him. She gasped as they brushed against the top of her mound, so close to where she wanted him she could scarcely catch her breath. Jamie's lips finding their way to a particularly sensitive spot behind behind her ear didn't help matters, nor did the look of raw hunger she was met with when they parted, just long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head and drop it carelessly onto the floor with her cardigan. 

The sight of his bare torso rendered her speechless, her eyes wandering over the defined muscles of his chest in the dim light. He looked almost unreasonable, as if he were carved out of marble. Michelangelo's David came to mind, but even he paled in comparison. With rapacious hands she reached for his belt, eager to see all of him, but he caught her by the wrists, a his lips quirking up devilishly before he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. She followed when he pulled back, a game of cat and mouse, Claire's lips just barely brushing against his before he dodged her again.

"That's no' fair," he hummed, teasing her, "and ye ken it."

That was all the incentive she needed to yank her wrists from his grasp, fling her tank top off into some far corner and shimmy out of her leggings in short order, smirking in triumph as she returned her attentions to his trousers. She shivered at the sound of his belt buckle hitting the ground—she'd heard it countless times from countless other belts, but there was something about this particular instance that was undeniably sexy, the pulsing need between her legs no longer content to be ignored. 

"Who's unfair now?" Claire purred, her bottom lip caught cheekily between her teeth as she sauntered backwards with an extra sway in her hips, her eyes dropping to the imposing bulge in his tight grey briefs. Jamie was on her in an instant, spinning her in a half circle just before they reached the bed so he could sit before her.

"Still ye, Sassenach." He traced a finger along the cup of her simple black bra, pleased with the quickening of her breath when he dipped it inside to brush her nipple. She couldn't help the whine that escaped from her throat when he made no further move, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she pressed her chest closer to him. "It appears we're no' quite equal yet," Jamie continued, dragging his hands up her back to the clasp of her bra and unfastening it with ease. No sooner had the offending garment fallen between them Jamie had her on her back, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he settled between her thighs. His kisses took on a frenzied quality to match that which Claire felt inside as he trailed them down her body, stopping to lavish attention over the hardened pink peaks of her breasts and delighting in the low, breathy sounds it inspired. Claire was squirming beneath him as his lips reached the band of her knickers and then he was looming above her, pulling them swiftly down her legs. He wasted no time spreading her open for himself, stubble rasping against the milky skin of her inner thighs as he peppered it with slow, wet kisses. 

"No, Jamie," she huffed, her hips straining against his firm hold as she threaded her fingers through his curls and tugged roughly upwards. "I want you."

With a strangled breath he slid off the end of the bed and discarded his briefs, his cock springing up against his stomach as he stopped for a moment to take in the sight of the woman he'd lusted after for months, glistening wet and laid out before him. His eyes dragged slowly up her body, but as they met with her own, dark and raw with desire, he knew this wasn't the night to take his time with her like he wanted to. He hoped, in the corner of his mind that wasn't maddened with need, that he'd someday get that chance, but even that was lost as wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, trapping his bottom lip between hers and sucking roughly.

"Claire," he panted, his hips rolling against hers. "Do we need a—"

"No, I'm—" she started, interrupted by a moan that seemed to come from her core itself as the tip of his cock pressed against her clit. "We don't need worry." No longer satisfied to play the bystander, Claire reached between them and took his cock in hand, stroking the silky skin in her fist a few times before she brought him to her entrance.

The sound she made as he pressed himself into her in one thrust was unlike anything he'd heard in his life, breathy and higher in pitch than he'd ever heard her in any capacity. He bent to quiet her with his lips, but stopped when he caught sight of the pained knit of her brows and her teeth digging into her bottom lip. He began to withdraw but she wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him there.

"Yer stronger than ye look, a nighean," he remarked, though he still didn't allow himself move.

" _Please_ ," she whined in return, her lips meeting his in a sloppy kiss as she began to roll her hips against him. "Don't—don't stop. _Don't_ be gentle."

With a final look in her dark, wide eyes, he pulled almost all the way out of her and then snapped his hips back, kissing her hard in an effort to swallow her moans. She met him with equal fervor, their teeth clashing now and again as she pressed her hips up to meet every his every thrust. He was larger than Frank in every sense of the word, and she'd hardly had time to adjust to the pleasantly painful stretch of him inside her before she felt herself begin to quiver, strung taut as a bow. The arch of her back pressed her ever closer to him, the sparse, ruddy hairs on his chest dragging over her nipples with every movement. With Jamie's face buried in her neck now, sucking her pulse point mercilessly, it was up to her alone to stay quiet when he snaked a hand down between them, trapping her clit between his middle and pointer finger and pressing them together.

" _Circles_ ," she managed on the heels of a high pitched moan, clawing at his back as he drove into her. The man took direction well, her innermost muscles beginning to clench as he did just that. He moved to kiss her just in time, swallowing her cries as stars exploded behind her eyes and her whole body tensed against him. Jamie followed suit after a few more measured thrusts, their bodies slackening as the last tingles of pleasure danced through their veins. 

She felt like jello as Jamie snaked an arm beneath her body and pulled her against his chest, her chin resting there as she gazed up with him with glazed eyes. With what little energy she did have left she reached up, her fingertips lazily tracing over the scruff on his jaw. He turned his head, catching her hand in his and pressing his lips to her palm, lingering there for a moment as they both tried to calm their heaving breaths. Growing bashful under the intensity of his stare, she tucked her head against his chest, their hands resting together beside her face. 

"Never in my _life_..." she sighed, fighting a secret smile that threatened to split her face. 

"Aye," Jamie echoed, dropping a kiss into her hair. "Will ye—will ye lay wi' me, Sassenach?" The question was tentative, like he was embarrassed to ask that of her, like he didn't realize there wasn't anywhere in the _world_ she'd rather be. 

" _Aye,_ " Claire answered, tilting her head up just enough to catch his lips in a deep, leisurely kiss. Jamie chuckled when one of her curls fell into her face, dark strands getting stuck between their lips, and he tucked it behind her ear with such tenderness she could have cried. He lingered there for a moment, his thumb caressing the line of her jaw, his lips curved in a soft smile.

"Ye have the bonniest curls," he said quietly, the adoration in his voice warming her from the inside out. "And the fattest arse I've ever seen on a lass," he added a moment later with a wink, squeezing the body part in question. Claire laughed, thumping him on the chest. "It's a compliment, Sassenach, dinna worry."

"I'll take your word for it," she said, dropping a kiss in the center of his chest. Her eyes caught the clock on his bedside table as she did so, and her heart fell a little. If she stayed any longer she'd be in danger of falling asleep, and although she wanted desperately to linger for hours in such a perfect moment, she imagined that Fiona and Nora liked to climb in bed with their father in the mornings, and she couldn't have them getting caught. His eyes followed her gaze and he nodded, a slight frown tugging at his lips that Claire _had_ to kiss away before she left. 

Jamie pulled away just slightly when he felt the tremble of her lips, his heart squeezing tight in his chest as he saw there were tears in her eyes. There was no need for words between them, he simply drew her head back into the crook of his neck and held her, luxuriating in the heavenly press of her skin against his for as long as she needed him.

"I'm sorry," she said with a laugh, wiping at her cheeks as she sat up. "I'm an easy cry after making—after sex." She caught herself, though the near slip didn't go unnoticed by Jamie, nor did the bright red heat in her cheeks that followed. With a guileless kiss, they both slid off their respective sides of the bed, locating their clothes and pulling them back on until there was nothing left to do but for him to see her off.

"I'll walk ye out," Jamie murmured, turning back just as he reached the door to the hallway for one final, searing kiss. Claire followed him quietly through the house, avoiding the left side of the third stair from the bottom as she knew it creaked. When they reached the back door, she reached up on her tip toes and kissed him again, a quick peck lest she be drawn back in and never leave.

"Goodnight, Jamie," she said almost shyly before she pulled open the door and stepped into the chilly night air. She walked between the yards quickly, though at this hour there would be no one around to see her, dragging her thumb across her lips. She was pleased to find them swollen, and couldn't contain the smile that followed. As she twisted the handle to her back door, she dared one final glance towards Jamie's house, where she found him watching to make sure she got in safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooo! There it is, folks. This is my first dip into writing straight smut, so extra thanks to my best friend Claire, who has never seen a single episode of Outlander but so graciously read over this chapter for me to make sure it was good straight smut. It's been a long time coming, so I hope I did these two lovebirds justice. As always, thank you for reading and being so generous with your comments, it makes my lil heart oh so happy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, thank you for all your incredibly thoughtful feedback on the last chapter! I'm truly wowed and humbled. Y'all are the best.
> 
> On another note, I’m looking for a beta and as I’m new to the fandom I don’t quite know where to go. So if you’re interested yourself, or you know someone who might be, please do let me know on here or over on tumblr.
> 
> Happy reading!

**"C** laire? Claire! Are you there, darling?"

Frank's voice, tinged with annoyance and fraught with received pronunciation, blasted through the speaker on her phone, grating against her ears as she fought through the last fog of sleep.

"Claire, answer me please."

"I'm here, I'm here," she managed, yawning so loudly she was sure Frank could hear.

"Where were you? Claire, I've called _six_ times—I expect to be able to get ahold of my wife when I need to."

"Mm, isn't that delightfully archaic." The words left her mouth before she could stop herself, immediately regretted. 

"Darling, I—I didn't mean it like _that._ I was just worried, it's not like you to miss my calls."

"I know you didn't. I'm sorry I—don't know why I said that." 

Finally awake enough to be aware of the tightness in her muscles, Claire stretched like a cat across the bed, a whiney moan escaping her lips when she felt the dull ache at the center of her being. She hoped it didn't sound too explicit or, better yet, that Frank couldn't hear it at all through the receiver. 

"What were you doing?"

"I, ehm—forgot to set an alarm, so your calls woke me," she answered, slightly embarrassed at having been caught sleeping til noon—she was a little too old for that.

"Oh. Well I was calling to see if you'd mind it terribly if I stayed an extra few days. There are some fascinating historical sights here, but I'm afraid the conference didn't allow much time outside the hotel so a few of us thought we'd extend our stay to see them."

"How...long were you thinking?" Claire queried, trying to sound casual, if not a little wary of him being gone so long. In reality, she welcomed the idea; it would give her more time to mull over her recent exploits, figure out what the _hell_ was going on with her and, hopefully, how to fix it. 

"If I book it now, I'd be on a flight home by noon on Friday."

"Well...I suppose I don't see why not. I wouldn't want to keep you from doing a little sightseeing while you're there. But you promise you'll be home by Friday? I do miss you when you're gone, you know," she replied, as if speaking it aloud would ensure its truth. 

"Home by Friday, I promise. Listen, I've got to go, but I'll give you a call when I can. Love you." 

Claire craned her neck when the line went dead, puzzling at the blank screen of her phone. It wasn't usual for him to hang up in such a rush, especially when he was out of town. Come to think of it, he'd been gone for four days already and she hadn't heard a word from him until now. To ask if he could stay longer. This was exceedingly strange, actually. Normally they called each other nightly when they were apart. But then again, she hadn't made the effort, either.

She knew well enough why. As she stretched once more, her arms pressing out to either side, the throbbing between her legs made her wince and the pleasured sound that escaped was now unfettered. Without anything left to distract her, no _husband_ on the other end of the phone, nowhere to be, she was beset with images of Jamie, powerless—and, perhaps, a little unwilling—to stop them. His biceps, thick and high in vascularity, flexing as he carried her into the house as if she were weightless. The scruff covering his jaw, scratching against the thin, sensitive skin of her breasts as he sat on the bed before her, his tongue flicking out against her nipple. The carved lines of his torso, almost too perfect, his hair dangling in his face as he bent to free his impressive member from his briefs. His eyes, pupils blown wide, locked on hers as he took her, changed her on some cellular level that now seemed irreversible. The soft, sated smile that painted his lips, red and puffy from her attentions, as he held her.

She knew already she was in above her head. 

He had asked her, before the fall, if she regretted kissing him. She couldn't say she did, and she was disturbed to find her answer hadn't changed. 

_What is_ wrong _with me? I'm unfaithful to the man who's loved me through the last sixteen years of my life and I lie about in the bed we share daydreaming about it?_

She wasn't completely without guilt, but she wanted to feel worse than she did. She wanted to be ashamed; truly, deeply ashamed of what she'd done. She wanted to cry, to call Frank back and beg him to come home. Say she missed him too much, she _needed_ him. Most of all, she wanted that to be true. But if it were, she wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. Frank leaving had been something of a relief, even before everything happened with Jamie. Living without the constraints of being the _perfect_ wife, keeping the _perfect_ home, choosing the _perfect_ outfit, had given her freedom she sorely missed—she felt more herself than she had in months, and that realization frightened her. 

It frightened her as much as Jamie did—rather, as much as she frightened _herself_ when faced with him. The events of the previous evening had come as quite a surprise to her—not that she wasn't a willing participant. She'd gone there with a plan, a _well laid_ _plan,_ to make sure that Jamie didn't feel guilty about what had happened, or uncomfortable around her for the rest of their days. She'd thought through everything she needed to say, with contingency plans to boot depending on how he reacted. 

But then she saw him and her resolve weakened, just a little. 

And when he asked her if she regretted it, the kiss they shared, she found she couldn't lie to him.

And finally she had touched him, devoid as the act was of any guile or seduction, and lost it altogether.

Perhaps she just had to keep herself from touching him. Maybe it could be as easy as that. 

**T** hat proved to be a far more arduous task than expected. Though Jamie kept his distance when Fiona and Nora came unexpectedly to play that afternoon, waving casually from his porch next door to assure her he knew they were there, when the girls noticed the dark green varnish on her nails they begged her to paint theirs, too. That was how she found herself being marched into the lion's den, Nora at her left hand and Fiona her right, to teach their father how to use the nail varnish she'd gotten them as a housewarming the present, swallowing hard as if that would move her heartbeat back down into her chest where it belonged.

Jamie's simmering glances in her direction as she instructed him— _you start from the cuticle and paint toward the end, don't go side to side_ and _you're not painting the whole finger!—_ were not lost on her, nor was they way each one made her stomach churn. She could tell by the quirk of his lips, the almost arrogant set of his chin, that he saw the pink in her cheeks; she wanted so badly to kiss that goddamned smug look from his face, to claim his lips and remind him that she had just as much power over him as he did her. The _bastard._ His mere proximity was enough to inspire her to...well, she knew what it inspired. And it couldn't, and _wouldn't_ , happen again. Still, a little fantasizing here and there wouldn't hurt anyone, daydreams of a world in which she were untethered and free to be his. She just couldn't touch him.

It was easy enough to keep her distance with the girls there, laughing and chattering, keeping them both distracted enough from the slow boil that bubbled just below the surface. But when they disappeared upstairs to retrieve books as 3:30 was fast approaching, and she found herself alone with him, she felt like a schoolgirl on a first date, nervous and soft spoken as he offered her a cuppa. He directed her to the third cabinet from the left to examine her choices, brushing past her as he retrieved the kettle to fill, and there it was. The crumbling of her resolve, the tightening in her belly when faced with the gravity that seemed to radiate from him. 

"Ye look a wee bit _glowy_ today, Sassenach," he noted casually, not even looking at her as he set the water to boil. Like he didn't know exactly what had made her so.

The _bastard!_

_Turnabout's fair play,_ she thought to herself before she could reconsider. 

"Do I?" she returned with a nonchalant tone, though her eyes bore into his back as he fixed them a plate of shortbread biscuits. "Haven't a clue why that might be."

"Hmm, ye don't, do ye?" Jamie looked back at her with narrowed eyes, the set of his lips downright devilish. 

"Daddy, do we get tea too?" Fiona and Nora chorused from the staircase as they made their way back to the kitchen weighted down with picture books. They set them on the counter and climbed up into the chairs on either side of Claire, excited to show her what they'd chosen. She listened intently as they rattled off the titles, though Jamie's flirtations were never far from her mind. She was pleased to see that three of the new books she'd gotten for them were among the list. 

When Jamie swooped in behind them to exchange their books for the plate of biscuits and two tiny teacups, he dropped his lips into the soft curls behind Claire's ear just long enough to growl, "I thought perhaps it had somethin' tae do wi' me," and then he was gone, his face straight as though nothing had happened when he reached across the granite island to set a cup of steaming Earl Grey in front of her.

_Bastard,_ she mouthed to him, her lips moving in exaggerated shapes to be sure he knew _exactly_ what she'd said. Emboldened by the way she played with him, he offered an owlish wink in return, watching her carefully over the lip of his cup as he took a sip.

"You're _evil,_ " Claire hummed later as she brushed past him, reaching for the stack of books on the counter beside him before disappearing into the sitting room.

**A** lone in the kitchen, Jamie leaned against the cold stone countertop and tipped his head back with a long sigh. He hadn't intended to be so forward with her, so shameless, but he seemed to lose any control of propriety when she was around. It was inappropriate of him to think of her as often as he did, the _way_ he did, wrong to allow his eyes to drag over the long, supple lines of her body when no one was looking. But to sleep with a married woman, regardless of how strongly he felt about her, and not be wracked with guilt—that was another thing entirely. That was immoral, the _worst_ kind of sin. 

He pondered that as he collected the dishes and took them to the sink, hand washing them even though they could just as easily go in the dishwasher just to have something to do. He should be beside himself about what he'd done, ashamed to even meet her eye. He ought to be apologizing to her and to God, begging for forgiveness from both parties. But there he was, _flirting._ And Claire, for her part, had met him blow for blow. She was a mystery to him, a puzzle he didn't have all the pieces to. He wanted them. Despite everything that told him he shouldn't, he _couldn't,_ he wanted _her._

Lost in thought, he didn't hear her come up behind him, clueless to her presence until her willowy arms encircled his waist, her body coming flush with his as she laid her cheek between his shoulder blades. 

"You make me reckless," she hummed, nuzzling against him.

"Claire, what are ye—"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips, the soft, smooth skin she found there making her shiver. "Nora's reading to Fi. Hear them?" Jamie reached up to turn off the faucet, drying his hands on a dish towel as they listened in on Nora making her way choppily through an easy reader version of Frozen. Jamie had read it so many times he knew the words by heart, and his heart swelled with pride as she got each and every one right. "I wanted a moment with you."

Jamie started to turn in her arms, but she pressed against his hips, stilling him. Though he wanted so badly to kiss her he didn't protest, and instead brought his hands to rest over her forearms, his thumbs stroking lazily against the soft, downy hairs there.

"Don't; not yet. It's—easier for me, like this." She was so quiet he could hardly hear her, but he knew what she meant. He felt her press a kiss to the rise of his shoulder blade, waiting with bated breath for her to continue. "I haven't stopped thinking about you."

" _Aye_ ," he breathed in agreement, lacing his fingers with hers and squeezing. 

"It scares me. The way you...make me feel." 

Jamie swallowed against the lump in his throat, yearning with his whole self to turn and envelop her. He knew it must cost her to tell him this; compared to his, her moral quandary must be immeasurable. He imagined the tight set of her lips, her brows knit together as she rubbed her cheek against his shirt. 

"It scares me too," he admitted when she didn't say anything more, taking their linked hands and laying them over his heart. "Yer a rare woman, Claire."

"You're a singular man, Jamie," she replied, and he could feel the tug of her lips into a smile. "I can't seem to keep myself away from you." Then, far quieter: "I don't know if I want to."

Unable to resist any longer, Jamie spun in her arms, his hands settling firmly on her hips as he looked down at her. The conflict in her eyes, the trepidation, was clear, but the tenderness cut through it all as she met his eyes through thick lashes. His lips were barely an inch from hers when they heard little feet hopping down from the couch and they broke apart, Jamie offering a quiet assurance that they could talk later, should she want to, as they followed the two tiny queens off to the playroom. 

**C** laire knocked lightly on the door to Jamie's kitchen, peering inside.  She could see him through the glass, at the sink as he had been when when she snuck up on him earlier that day. He couldn't hear her, she could tell, but instead of knocking again she just watched him for a moment, her lips quirking up in a smile. He was maddeningly perfect, not just physically but in his very essence. She shouldn’t be looking at him like this, as if somewhere, hidden in the dip of his clavicle or the crook of his elbow, she’d find the whole world made just to her liking. But she shouldn’t have kissed him, and she shouldn’t have slept with him, and she shouldn’t be here right now. But here she was. As she watched, he lifted his head suddenly and drew himself to his full height, like an animal sensing danger. He was still for a moment, the tension visible in his body, and then he looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing directly on her.

She waved sheepishly, turning shy now that she'd been caught. His body relaxed immediately as he came to the door, pulling it open and ushering her inside.

"Ye should ha' knocked; I hope I didna keep ye waiting long," he said by way of greeting, retreating quickly into the house so there were a few feet between them.

He looked as uncertain as she felt. She didn't know quite what to do, whether she should throw herself into his arms, primly kiss his cheeks or shake his hand. What _did_ one do in this situation?

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a little voice wondered, what _was_ this situation?

"I did, but you didn't hear, and then I saw you and you..." Claire trailed off, heat climbing like a vine up her neck. 

_You what? Looked so beautiful I couldn't move?_

She noticed him wipe his hands on his apron, which bore an adorable picture of Fiona and Nora. It was probably three years old, and her heart ached unexpectedly at the sight. She wished she could have known them then, when they were all baby fat and babble, even tinier in their father's arms than they were now. 

"Would ye like to talk, Sassenach?" Jamie ventured, his middle finger tapping rapidly against his thigh.

"No, not particularly. Not _tonight_ ," she answered, meeting his eye again, the affection she found there overwhelming. "I just...wanted to be with you." 

" _Claire_ ," he breathed, engulfing her in his arms with one long stride. He held her almost too tight, straining her breath. Perhaps it was simply because she needed to be _that_ close to him, or perhaps she wanted to be punished somehow for what she was doing, but she didn't say anything. She was vaguely aware of the way he murmured into her hair, consonants catching in his throat, her heart fit to burst from the mere tone he used. Despite the choppy, almost aggressive nature of the language itself—Gaelic, she'd realized—his voice was a soft contrast. If she weren't careful, she'd label it loving. 

"I like it when you speak Gaelic," she murmured, cupping his jaw and caressing the bristly hairs there. He bent his neck and kissed her then, slow and tender. His tongue slipped between her lips, teasing hers and drawing out a moan that oozed through his veins straight to his groin. 

"Do ye?" She could see the glint in his eyes glazed, knew he was planning something that she would gladly fall victim to. "Bidh mi gad ionndrainn nuair nach eil thu an seo, mo Sorcha." He tucked an errant curl behind her ear, letting his hand rest there against her jaw. "Tha mi a ’guidhe nach robh agam ri adhradh a dhèanamh dhut ann an dìomhaireachd mar seo." Pressed his lips to her forehead. "Is dòcha gu bheil mi gu math a ’tuiteam ann an gaol leat." Another kiss, this one ending when Claire sucked at his bottom lip until it popped from between her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, somehow delirious with pleasure though they were only kissing. "Gu sònraichte nuair a choimheadas tu orm mar sin, mar gum faodadh tu gaol a thoirt dhomh cuideachd."

"What does all that mean?" she asked, her voice smooth and sweet, rooted low in her belly.

"I'll tell ye someday," he said, pressing a final kiss to the tip of her nose before he broke away.

**C** laire was none to good at keeping her promises these days. She had promised herself that kissing Jamie meant nothing, that she'd _never_ do something so thoughtless again. Next, she'd promised herself she would just go over to talk to him, to make sure things were right between them. Then, after what was without a doubt the best sex of her life, she promised herself it was just one time. Not a mistake, necessarily—even by then she was far too involved to call it a mistake—simply a one time occurrence, never to be repeated. Yet here she was, _again,_ flat on her back in Jamie Fraser's bed, his auburn curls tickling her thighs as he lavished her with the attentions of his mouth and two thick fingers. She realized, in the far off corner of her mind that wasn't absolutely incoherent with hedonism, that she was going to need a new promise. Making matters worse, when he flicked his eyes up toward her face, studying her with lusty fascination as she bit her own knuckle hard enough to leave a mark in service of staying quiet, she saw how difficult it would be to keep it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into murky adultery territory here, I get it. But I promise I have a plan, they're not just going to be out here sinning with abandon. I hope you'll stick with me and with these two, and as always, please do let me know what you think. I write this as much for you as I do for myself, and your opinions matter greatly to me.
> 
> Gaelic Translations:
> 
> Bidh mi gad ionndrainn nuair nach eil thu an seo - I miss you whenever you're not here
> 
> Tha mi a ’guidhe nach robh agam ri adhradh a dhèanamh dhut ann an dìomhaireachd mar seo - I wish I didn't have to worship you in secret like this
> 
> Is dòcha gu bheil mi gu math a ’tuiteam ann an gaol leat - I may very well be falling in love with you
> 
> Gu sònraichte nuair a choimheadas tu orm mar sin, mar gum faodadh tu gaol a thoirt dhomh cuideachd - Especially when you look at me like that, like you could love me too


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a wee interlude for you before the next big chunk of plot stuff. Thank you to my betas, @SanRafJol and @Janmarie, I so appreciate you taking time to do that. And thank you to YOU for reading!

**"I** t's three am, Sassenach," Jamie murmured, the low tones of his voice vibrating against the meeting of her neck and shoulder, making the hairs there raise to attention.

"Are you kicking me out?" Claire teased, craning her neck to catch his lips in a kiss that was both languid and searing. Counting back, she realized they'd been in bed going on five hours—not that she was complaining. They normally didn't linger this long, both too afraid that they'd doze off and be met with little girls and lots of questions, but with Frank set to be on a plane home in a matter of hours, neither could quite bring themselves to end the night.

"Certainly no'," he replied, the hand that was resting on Claire's hip smoothing up her side to cup her breast. He kneaded the pearlescent, yielding flesh, humming victoriously as he felt her nipple pebble against the palm of his hand. "Just fitting that I should find myself in bed with _ye_ at the witching hour."

"The witching hour?" Claire's laugh ended on a breathy whimper when Jamie rolled said nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Aye, three o'clock's the witching hour," Jamie answered, leaving her breast chilled in the open air so he could brush her curls out of the way and press his lips to the back of her neck. "Tis when the veil between worlds is the thinnest," he continued, pausing to suck on the sensitive skin just behind her ear until her breathing grew labored and her hips shiftless in the cradle of his thighs. "And ghosts” — his hand splayed across her abdomen, trapping her against his growing hardness—"and spirits"—he hooked his leg over hers, opening her to him as his hand traveled lower, tracing aimless patterns over her skin, never quite reaching as low as she wanted—"and _faeries_ "—he dragged a single fingertip through her folds, his teeth scraping across her shoulder when he found her just as ready as he—"roam freely among us." With two dexterous fingers, he began rubbing agonizingly slow circles over the bundle of nerves between her thighs, relishing in the roll of her hips against him.

"And I take it you think me a fairy?" she questioned, her voice thick with pleasure as she wriggled free from his hold and rolled to face him. She hitched her leg high over his hip, trapping his hardness between them so he, too, got his fair share of torture. 

"I dinna ken— _yet._ But ye've bewitched me well enough," came her answer as Jamie pinched her arse, kneading the supple flesh there in an attempt to guide the motion of her hips. "I'm completely under yer power and happy to be there, a gràidh."

With a wicked quirk to her lips, Claire leveraged him onto his back, settling herself over his thighs. He reached for her but she slapped his hands away, tutting as she dipped a hand between her thighs, smearing it with her own wetness. Unable to resist, she held his gaze and brought two fingers to his lips, humming her approval as he took them in his mouth and sucked, tongue flicking between her digits and making her whine. Jamie had a knack for discovering erogenous zones even she wasn't aware of—the dip of her lower back, the wafer-thin skin behind her knees, the inside of her left arm (her right arm was too ticklish)—and tonight was no exception. 

"I do so enjoy having you _under_ my power," she purred, withdrawing her hand and wrapping it around his cock. She stroked him slowly, relishing the jerking of his hips as she brought her other hand down to cup his balls. He groaned at that, his hands fisting the bedsheets as she began to tug at his sac.

"No more of that, Sassenach," Jamie pleaded through labored breaths after a few moments, grasping at her wrist. "I'm already fit to burst, and I wouldna' want tae waste it wi'out feelin' ye clenchin' around me."

"My, you do know how to talk to a lass," Claire teased, though she decided mercy was appropriate in this scenario.

**C** laire draped herself over Jamie's chest as he grew soft inside her, stopping to press a kiss to his open lips before she buried her face in his neck, inhaling the musky, altogether singular scent of him. Though neither had broached the subject directly, the weight of Frank's impending return hung heavy between them, and she wanted to savor the last of the week they'd shared. 

"May I ask ye a question?" 

The vibration in his throat tickled Claire's nose and she couldn't help but giggle as she rolled off of him, leaving one leg resting over his hip as she propped her cheek up on a fist.

"Only if I can ask one of you," she replied, absently playing with the ruddy hairs on his abdomen.

"Seems a reasonable trade. Ye first."

Claire allowed her eyes to roam over the man beside her for a long moment before she spoke, brushing one finger over his nipple just to watch the breath catch in his chest.

"Do you know anything about flowers?" she asked finally, running the tip of her nose from his jaw to his temple and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I do...my mam kept a beautiful garden at Lallybroch—Jenny still tends it to this day. When I was a lad she'd take me out wi' her in the mornings to water it and cut flowers for the house and the likes. Taught me all about plants; what they each meant, when they bloomed, what kind of light they needed. Why d'ye ask, Sassenach?"

Claire was speechless for a moment, wonder and disbelief painting her glass face. Jamie thought she'd never looked more adorable.

"So—when you brought me that bouquet...you knew?" she asked. Something about her voice was fragile with hope, and Jamie knew then that he was irrevocably hers, that second only to the two little girls asleep down the hall, the most important thing in the world was the woman lying next to him. It was unnerving, to know that he would do anything for her, this woman who couldn't truly be his. Nonetheless, he wasn't a fool; knew well enough that he was defenseless against the devotion that had taken root in his very soul.

"I did," he answered with a sheepish quirk of his lips. "I didna quite realize it til I was drivin' home from the florist. Then I saw ye tendin' yer wee garden a while later and I realized ye might have a little knowledge of yer own."

"Jamie Fraser, you are...an inconceivably wonderful man," she murmured, leaning down to press her lips to his over and over and over, unable to help the smile that tugged at her lips. "I spent hours _staring_ at that bouquet, wondering if you meant it."

"I was so scairt I'd ruined something between us that week when ye went away," Jamie admitted, rolling toward her and resting his hand on the curve of her hip just to remind himself that she was there, that she was real and warm and, if just for a matter of hours before the real world came knocking, _his_.

"When I went away?"

"After Nora got hurt. Ye'd only come by to check on her cut and ye'd always have a reason to leave..."

"Oh, _Jamie_ ," Claire breathed past the lump in her throat, cupping his cheek and gently bringing him back to look at her. "I was scared, too. Scared of how I felt when you hugged me that night, scared that you meant everything in that bouquet...scared that you didn't." She ran her thumb over his cheekbone and leaned down to kiss him, hoping she could tell him with her body what she could barely allow herself to think. "I'm glad I came back."

"Aye, so am I," he answered, shimmying down the bed just enough to tuck himself against her chest. Snaking his arm around her back, he laid his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her there. "Will ye keep comin' tae me? After...tomorrow?"

With a heavy sigh, Claire dropped her lips to the crown of his head, running her fingers tenderly through the flaming red curls she so adored. 

"I don't think I could stop myself even if I wanted to," she confessed into the safety of their little bubble as the first light of morning peeked through the drapes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being locked away in quarantine has turned me into a raunchy monster and it appears these two will have to bear the brunt of it til I'm released to the public again.


	13. Chapter 13

**"Y** e look different," Geillis declared as Claire took up her usual spot across the table at Palmetto.

"You keep telling me that, and I still don't know what you're talking about," Claire replied, perusing the menu although she'd been looking forward to the shrimp tacos all morning.

"And I still think yer lyin' tae me," Geillis chirped back, eyeing her friend over the rim of her (fake) tortoiseshell glasses. "But, short of harassing ye til yer at yer wits end, there's no' much I can do to make ye tell me. I just can't imagine what's so big that yer hidin' it from yer best friend."

_No, you certainly can't,_ Claire mused to herself, taking a grateful sip of the mimosa that had appeared before her. 

"I'm not hiding anything from you, G," she insisted, careful to phrase it as an assertion and not a promise. She'd broken enough of those lately.

Not to Jamie, though. She had given him her word, in the _wee_ hours of the morning the day that Frank came home, that she would still come to him, and she had kept it. Things were different, as they both knew they would be. No longer could she sneak through the yard after the girls were in bed to pass the evening hours wrapped in the safety of his arms, or drift about her house in an almost dreamlike state, still so _alive,_ glowing from the time they had shared. It was a more complicated dance now, but no amount of planning and triangulation was too much if time alone with Jamie was waiting on the other side.

"Yer really no' gonna tell me?" The look on Geillis' face said _level with me_ and Claire almost wanted to, but she knew better. She vaguely remembered another conversation between the two of them, when Geillis had suggested that Frank was having an affair. She brushed off the idea and she still did, even more so now that she herself was otherwise entangled. There was something changed about her—Geillis' constant prying had proven that much—and she knew she'd have recognized the same thing in Frank if that was, indeed, what was keeping him away. But something else she'd said in that conversation struck her: " _Things like that always get out in the end, I don't care how sneaky you are_." She wondered for a brief moment how this would end, if, true to her word, their careful secrecy wouldn't be enough, but Geillis' insistent voice pulled her blessedly from her own worries.

"Hello? Earth to Claire!"

She chuckled, shaking her head at the emphatic way her friend was waving her hands in front of her face, green eyes big and imploring. 

"Seriously? Yer no' going tae tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell," Claire repeated, an apologetic quirk to her brows.

"Weel, yer no good for conversation," Geillis admonished her, though her tone remained good natured. "And I still dinna believe ye for a second. I've somethin' tae bring tae the table, though."

"Oh?" Claire looked at her with interest, her curiosity piqued. Geillis was quite the compelling presence, and she had no doubt this would be good.

"Aye," the redhead replied, a smile tugging at her red lips until she gave in, teeth gleaming in the light as she beamed. "Louise and I have been seeing each other." 

The look on her face, blushy joy and excitement at the fulfillment of her crush, was so familiar to Claire that she ached a little, in that secret place in her heart she'd set aside just for Jamie. She smiled like that too now, but only behind closed doors, never to be revealed to anyone but the man who made her feel that way. 

"How long?" she asked, the delight she felt for her friend's happiness overshadowing all else. There was something different about the way she spoke about Louise, a brightness emanating seemingly from her that Claire hadn't seen before. She'd heard her talk about flings and one night stands, exes and crushes, but never like this. She was almost bashful about it, her cheeks pinked.

"Just a couple'a weeks, but...we're no' seeing other people," Geillis answered, biting back a smile. 

"Jesus, so I should start shopping for my wedding outfit, then?" Claire teased, knocking Geillis' foot with her own underneath the table as the waiter set their plates in front of them. 

"Shut yer wee gob, Randall," Geillis retorted, her eyes narrowed as she sipped at her mimosa. "She's already been talkin' about sittin' down wi' her parents, though, and I was thinkin' about bringin' her as my date tae yer birthday. If ye don't mind, of course, I dinna want tae do anythin' tae overshadow yer day."

Claire laughed. For two women who got along so effortlessly, she and Geillis' were terribly different many ways. "I'm turning thirty eight, Geillis, I'm not too worried about a lack of attention on my birthday," she said. "Are you sure you're ready for that though? Thats—a big step."

"Ach, I dinna care too much if people ken, I'd just never dated a woman worth goin' tae the trouble. And as for Lou, I think most everyone kinda knows it, even if it goes unsaid."

" _Lou_?" Claire repeated, staring her down with raised eyebrows and a knowing look. "You've got it bad. I'd love it if you brought her though, I want to get to know her now that you're so taken! And I need as many people on my side as I can get—who the hell knows what kind of party _Frank_ is going to throw."

"Lord, don't I know it. I tried tae convince him tae let me take care of it, but he insisted."

"You did? I didn't know that. That is...so thoughtful of you." A little dumbfounded, Claire looked at Geillis for a long moment, incredulity written across her face. Sometimes it was hard to believe that the woman sitting across from her—loyal, thoughtful and kind—was the same one she'd met when she'd met upon first arriving in Charleston. When they'd first met, she thought of her as more than a little superficial, a wild and self absorbed party girl who seemed less than bothered by the recent passing of her substantially older husband. It occurred her that, for reasons she wasn't all privy to, Geillis had constructed quite the impressive outer shell, and she kept it up well until she knew she was safe to let down a drawbridge, behind which sat one of the most wonderful, if not a touch unconventional, friends Claire had ever known.

As per usual, Geillis had to skirt off to her next destination directly from their lunch, and she hugged Claire a tight goodbye on the pavement in front of the cafe.

"I'm excited for you two," Claire whispered into her shiny red hair, kissing her on the cheek with a smacking sound as they broke apart. "When you're ready to move in, I'll drive the U-Haul."

"Shut it," Geillis shot back, but the same familiar joy tugged at her lips as she gave Claire's hand a final squeeze in parting. "And by the way," she added, holding Claire's eyes in a meaningful gaze, "ye look _happy_ different. Whatever it is, I'm excited for ye, too."

**S** he _was_ happier. So much so that it scared her. She never imagined that someone carrying on an affair—and that's precisely what she was doing, she could no longer deny that truth to herself—could be so deliriously happy, but somehow she was. It wasn't that she had escaped guilt completely. Far from it, in fact.  Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she'd wake to find Frank curled tight against her back, their hands clasped on the mattress in front of her. Sometimes it felt wrong, that she was lying in the arms of the wrong man, doing Jamie wrong— _oh, the irony_ —but sometimes, though she was reluctant to admit it to anything but the light of the moon, she enjoyed it, the bittersweet remnants of what they had once shared. On the rare occasion that he would make overtures, kissing her shoulder or pulling her into his arms, Claire met him with excuses. To his credit, Frank never protested, ending things with a peck on her cheek before settling in on his side of the bed. Awake long after her husband had begun to snore lightly beside her, Claire wondered what she felt guiltier about. She could never quite reach a conclusion. 

Still, out of all the turmoil she waded through, something objectively good did come. With Frank still largely absent, the girls in school and Jamie working full time at the farm, she was left with few daily distractions—not even frivolous parties to plan, as it was evidently the off-season now. She didn't miss the parties at all, nor the planning, not _really_ , but it had given her something to occupy her time during the summer months. Studying for her US medical licensing exam, though, wouldn't only keep her busy, it would put her back on track to living the life of purpose she so sorely missed.

It hadn't taken much convincing to get her back to pursuing her career—not when it came from Jamie, that is. 

"These hands are made to heal, Sassenach," he'd told her one afternoon when he'd taken his "lunch" hour at home, pressing his lips to each fingertip. "I've watched them heal my daughter, I've _felt_ them heal me." He looked at her with the kind of awe she'd only ever seen in films, bringing her hand to rest over his heart. They stayed like that for a long moment before he pulled her to him and kissed her, soft and tender even as his tongue teased her lips open to do battle, the thumping of his heart steady under her palm. 

It wasn't that she was doing it _for_ him or _because_ of him, that his attentions had given her some magical empowerment to return to herself. But he had given her a taste of true joy for the first time in months, a reminder that she was, indeed, alive, and made for so much more than the simple, unfulfilling housewifery she'd been relegated to. 

He was the first and only person she had called when she scheduled her test, the motions completely unconscious until she heard the ringing from the speaker of her phone.

"Sassenach?" 

"Hi, Jamie. I hope I'm not interrupting anything, I just wanted to tell you—I scheduled my first licensing exam," she said, feeling positively alight alone in her office as she heard his excited intake of breath on the other end of the line.

"That's brilliant, Claire! Och, I'm sae proud of ye," he exclaimed, and she could hear the warmth of his smile.

"I'm proud of me too," she, a giggle slipping free from her lips.

"Ye should be. When's the test?"

"March third, ten o'clock. And I already checked all my university credits—I took so many medical electives I don't need any courses here, so if I pass and get certified by the Educational Commission all I have to do is a residency program and then I can take the final licensing test."

" _If_ ye pass," he tossed off, as if it was the most ridiculous thing she could possibly say. "I could help ye study, though, if ye'd like. Ye should probably review your anatomy."

"I think we can both attest to the fact that I know my anatomy _perfectly_ well," she flirted back, catching her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before she continued. "But I suppose a review couldn't hurt. Maybe you could take your lunch at home again sometime soon."

"Aye, I believe that could be arranged." She imagined him, tipped back at some big oak desk, that sexy smile she so adored painting his lips. "I wish I could take ye to dinner tae celebrate," he added.

The energy shifted between them immediately.

"I know," she answered, her voice tinged with longing as she glanced at the framed photo of her and Frank on their wedding day. _Someday,_ she wanted to tell him, a promise that things wouldn't always be like this. But that was far too considerable an undertaking, and she settled for, "I do, too," heart heavy in her chest. She wanted so badly to kiss away the frown she pictured in her mind, soothe away the uncertainty and yearning she knew he felt, too. 

" Alright, mo nighean donn, I've got a client comin' for the horses soon, I should get ready. Before I go, though, I wanted tae tell ye...Frank invited me to yer wee birthday party next week. I can make an excuse if ye'd like me to, I dinna have to go—"

Claire cut him off before he could get another word out, assuring him that she wanted him there, to celebrate with her (though it wouldn't be in the capacity she wished for). "I insist," she told him, smacking her lips in a smooching sound against the receiver.

"I'm glad ye called, mo cridhe. I canna tell ye how proud ye make me," he told her before he hung up. It was the best possible response she could have imagined, the idea that she'd made this wonderful man _proud_ sitting with her long after the call was over.

**F** rank's response was decidedly less than ideal when she told him that evening.

"Claire, I know you liked your work at the hospital but you can't be serious," he reprimanded her, stepping on the day's excitement in one fell swoop. "How are you going to keep up a house, and a social life when you're studying for licensing exams? How exactly do you expect to manage all that? God, not to mention doing a _residency_ again? I went through hell when you were in residency, Claire, I can't do that again. _We_ can't do that again." He corrected himself in the space of a second, but his initial statement, what he _really_ meant, wasn't lost on Claire at all.

"Did you ever consider, Frank, that I never exactly aspired to being your _housewife_?" she shot back, so _incredibly_ frustrated by the culmination of months of his flagrant selfishness. "I had a life and a career of my own in London and I was _happy,_ and then we came here for your work, and I knew it was important to you to make a good impression so I did what needed to be done but—Frank I can't do this forever. I need to be...fulfilled, not just taking care of you and your insane mansion and throwing parties I hate."

Frank looked genuinely hurt by this, the lines in his forehead deepening as he stared at her, and she regretted that her true feelings had come out in such a harsh way. Bhe didn't feel badly for sharing them; she would have had to at some point. It just came as a surprise to even herself that she was doing it now. But then, she hadn't expected Frank to react quite like this.

"Are you...unhappy, Claire?"

_With you? Yes. Almost completely, but some sick sense of loyalty, a pathetic hope that I can't quite shake that maybe someday you'll turn back into the thoughtful, charmingly nerdy teacher's assistant I married keeps me here. That and the fact that my visa depends on being your wife and it haunts me every goddamn day._

"Not...entirely," she said, the confusion on his face annoying and disheartening her at the same time. She'd never intended to hurt Frank with any of this, not the affair, not her own discomfort in the life she'd made so far in the states. "I'm just—like I said, I'm not particularly fulfilled right now. I'm not cut out for this, Frank. I thought you knew that."

"I just thought—perhaps something had changed. What about a baby, Claire? I thought maybe you were, I don't know, readying yourself for that, somehow." He looked so crestfallen, but somehow hopeful, still. That hurt, as she sat with the sudden, unexpected realization that she couldn't imagine raising a child with him anymore. Not when she'd seen...no, she didn't need to entertain that right now. 

"I—don't know, Frank. I'm sorry. I just know that right now I _need_ to get back to work, back in the operating room, so I can feel like a whole person again. I can't be a good mother if I'm living half a life. Do you understand?"

"I suppose," he replied after a moment, though his brow was still deeply creased with contemplation and there was a sense of flippancy in his tone, as if he was giving her his permission to go off on her silly little journey until she was ready to return to reality and be a _good wife_. She ignored it, sighing as he started toward the front door, not wanting to fight any more. Not tonight. 

"Frank?" she said softly, the guilt and indecision roiling inside her making her reach out. "I love you." And she did, somewhere, still. Just not as she once had.

"I love you, too," he replied, though his face was drawn. "I'm going for a drive."

**H** aving begun studying, digging out her old notes from medical school from boxes in the attic that had already begun to collect dust, making flashcards and parsing out what she merely needed to brush up on from what she needed to study carefully, the weekend of her birthday snuck up on Claire without her realizing. Frank had taken charge of this particular party—or rather, he had hired someone else to take care of the details. Nonetheless, Claire had nothing to do with any of it, and thus had no idea what to expect.

"Dress code?" she asked him, looking up at him through the bathroom mirror as she switched off her diffuser.

"It's your birthday, darling, whatever makes you happy. I thought you might like a slightly more casual affair, so..." he answered to her surprise. Things between them had been distant since she'd told him she'd of her plans, the little time they did spend together stunted and quiet. But that was hardly the worst of it. That she could have dealt with; it probably would have even given her a little reprieve from the constant, quiet unrest she felt. The part that broke her heart, just a little bit, was that she could see him _trying_. She'd overheard him on the phone cancelling more than a few staff members he'd hired for her party, caught him a few times preparing his own lunch for work. Once, she'd even come downstairs on a Wednesday morning to find the dishwasher unloaded. And now this. Their initial conversation had been heated when she told him about rejoining the work force, but he seemed at least a little receptive to her complaints. It would have been _so_ much easier if he'd just gone on the way he had been all these months. 

"That was...really very thoughtful of you, Frank. Thank you," she said, trying not to betray everything that bubbled beneath the surface on her face. 

"I just want you to have a good party," he replied, and she could feel him watching her as she retreated quickly to the closet. 

She laid out the dress, an ivory chiffon fit and flare with a light green botanical design, falling just below her knees with a short flutter sleeves and a v-neckline that fell just on the appropriate side of revealing. She'd purchased it several weeks ago on a shopping date with Geillis, but it never felt the right time to wear it. She'd considered it for several events she'd attended on Frank's arm, but it felt wrong somehow to wear a piece she loved so much to a party she despised. But this, a party for her that appeared to be at least somewhat on her own terms, was the perfect occasion. 

_Jamie ought to enjoy it, as well._

Just as his name crossed her mind her phone rang and she strode across the room in just her bra and panties, uncomfortably aware that Frank had a clear view of her from where he stood, still in the bathroom. She brushed it off—he'd seen _plenty_ more, after all—and slid her thumb across the screen.

"Hello?" It was an unspoken rule, a safety precaution, really, between herself and Jamie, that she didn't answer using his name (or sounding nearly as excited as she usually did when she knew it was him calling) when she was with Frank.

"Sassenach? I'm sorry tae bother ye, I ken yer probably gettin' ready for yer party, but I could really use yer help with...girly stuff?" 

_They're five and seven, what on earth could that be?_ she thought, though she said she'd be right over. Tossing on the simple red linen dress she'd worn that day, she told Frank she had to help with something next door, starting off hoping she could avoid any further conversation about the matter.

"Next door? What could he possibly need your help with?" Frank asked before she could clear the doorframe, popping his head out of the bathroom.

"Something with the girls, I don't know."

"Well...I don't see how that's—"

She knew well enough what he was going to say, cutting him off before he could finish.

"Frank, they don't—have a _mother,_ " she implored, realizing swiftly that her response wasn't likely to come off quite the way she'd intended. "I'm sure it’s something small, I'll be back in a few minutes. It's—it's good practice for me, for someday." She hated the words as they left her mouth, but they seemed to do the trick and Frank let her go without another word.

It wasn't as if she hadn't thought about it, fantasized in private moments about how it would be if things were different. Where her relationship with Jamie would go, if they were free to be with each other. She wondered if, in another world, she would ever see the girls off to school, or comfort them in the middle of the night. She could picture the four of them as a family with such ease it frightened her, and she tucked those daydreams pointedly away when they came. That could never be her life.

She let herself in when she got to his house, calling his name into the empty entryway.

"Upstairs!"

What she found there had her biting back a laugh the likes of which she couldn't remember. Jamie stood in the hallway, the handle of a hairbrush in his grasp as he looked helplessly between Claire and Fiona. 

_Help me,_ he mouthed, the corner of his lip quirking up just enough that she could make it out. 

Fiona, on the other hand, was not amused in the slightest by the situation. Her tight strawberry blonde ringlets were a mess of frizz and tangles, with head of said hairbrush stuck in the thick of it on the left side. Claire could tell she'd been crying, her little face screwed up in a reddened pout, but she brightened a little when she saw Claire.

" _Jamie,_ " she scolded with a chuckle, shaking from the effort it took to not to laugh outright. "Looks like we're in a bit of a pickle, aren't we?" She turned her attention to Fiona, who nodded, her bottom lip tucked in her mouth as she glared at her father.

"Daddy got it stuck."

"I was tryin' tae get them ready for the sitter. They were playin' hard and swimmin' at their friend's house today and I didna want her tae have tae deal wi' it, so I was brushin' out the snarls and..."

"It hurts," Fiona whined, taking a shaking breath as she tucked herself in Claire's arms. Claire rubbed her back and whispered comforts in her ear for a moment, all too aware of the weight of Jamie's gaze. He looked at her differently now, when he watched her with his girls, and she wondered if perhaps he harbored the same secret fantasies she did.  Part of her wished that he would tell her, tucked away in some secret moment, that he wanted her without a shadow of a doubt, only her, _always_ her. That he wanted her to share his bed, his home and his family for the rest of their days. She wanted him to ask her to leave Frank, to be _his_ in every way, there beside him for first days of school and birthdays and all the things in between. Maybe that would give her the conviction she lacked to leave Frank and be with him in the way he deserved. She wasn't so foolish as to think it would be a magical fix-all—there were visas and citizenship, divorce attorneys and public shame that would all come into play in that situation—but, against her better judgement, she couldn't help but wish.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she cooed to the little girl, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "But I have curly hair like yours, remember? I know just the thing to fix it. I'll be right back, okay?"

As promised, Claire returned a few minutes later with an armful of supplies, pressing a book to Jamie's chest before she set to work.

"What's this then?" he asked, watching from the doorway as Claire coated her palms with some sort of oil and began smoothing them over Fiona's hair, combing through with her fingers where it wasn't too terribly tangled.

"It's a book on curly hair," she answered, though her focus remained on gentling her way through the task at hand. Carefully lifting the brush so as not to tug the girl's hair, squirted more directly onto the mass of snarls, working it through as best she could. "It's different with curly hair, especially like hers. And especially this much," she added with a smile, searching Fiona's eyes for any sign of pain as she began to pull almost strand by strand, freeing what she could from the brush. "You should really be using a Denman brush to detangle for both of them—I'll leave this one with you, I've got others. And you'll want to finger comb it with a little oil first, like I did. I'll leave the book with you to look through. And you ask me if you have any questions.

"Thank ye, Sassenach," Jamie replied, smiling tenderly as Claire managed to untangle the brush without so much as a wince from his daughter.

_The hands of a braw healer,_ he thought to himself, his heart swelling as she braided the girl's hair back from her face. 

"All done!" she announced, catching Fiona in her arms when she hopped up into her lap. "You can leave it just like this for bedtime, alright? And then your Dad can wash it in the morning." 

"Da, is Claire here?" Nora's voice rang down the hallway, the pounding of her little feet not far behind as she raced toward them, gravitating immediately to Claire's side.

"I had to help Fiona with her hair. And what were you up to, little miss?" 

"I was readin'. Daddy got me a new chapter book!" She emphasized _chapter book_ with pride and Claire beamed, looking up towards Jamie with joy shining in her eyes. 

"You're reading chapter books now, are you?" she asked, looking over the cover of the book as Nora held it out. 

"Mmhm!" Nora nodded happily.

Claire listened intently as Nora told her all about The Magic Treehouse, her excitement absolutely infectious. And there it was, that same heavy, adoring look, caught out of the corner of her eye. She knew, in her heart and in her body, what it was, but the brain can be funny that way, playing protector when one isn't quite ready to know something. 

"Alright lassies, say goodbye to Claire, I'm sure she's got tae finish gettin' ready for her party," Jamie finally cut in, ushering the girls out of the bathroom. They followed, though complaints about their lack of an invitation began immediately. Claire assured them with plenty of hugs that she'd host a party they could attend soon enough, that it would be boring tonight with no other children to play with, but that didn't quite do the trick. They were whining now, stomping their little feet and looking as if, at any moment, they'd fly into full blown tantrums.

"Say, d'ye want tae give Claire yer birthday present before she goes?" Jamie suggested, more than a little desperate to soothe them before they passed the point of no return. Thankfully, that seemed to stop them in their tracks, and they ran downstairs to retrieve the box. It was big and flat, and the girls looked more than a little off kilter carrying it up the stairs, setting it excitedly at Claire's feet.

"Will you help me with the paper?" she asked, sitting criss cross applesauce before the box and beckoning for them to join her. They did so, tearing adorably at the paper to reveal a simple brown box. Claire's breath caught in her throat when she pulled the top off to reveal what was inside, and she glanced toward Jamie—who had also taken up a spot on the ground—with disbelief. Buried under crisp white tissue paper was a large pair of fairy wings, iridescent gold with boning that swirled into intricate designs. She found herself unexpectedly overcome with emotion, her heart straining in her chest as she pushed the box aside to take her little gift givers in her arms. 

"Ye didna have any wings for when we play fairies so we told Daddy that's what we wanted tae get ye for yer birthday," Nora explained, her arm wrapped tight around Claire's neck.

"D'ye like them, Fairy Clairy?" Fiona asked, a beaming smile on her little lips as she pulled back.

"They're beautiful, thank you," Claire replied, one hand cupping each of the girls cheeks. "You two are so very thoughtful—I think this is the best present I've ever received." 

The girls looked so proud of themselves Claire couldn't help but press a kiss to each of their foreheads, and after she'd tried them on, Jamie cut in once more to tell them it was time to say goodbye.

"We'll play fairies after school this week, okay?" she assured them with one final hug before the girls skipped off to their room to pick out books to read with their sitter. 

"Twas all their idea," Jamie offered quietly as Claire tucked the wings carefully back into the box. "When I told them yer birthday was comin' up, I think they already had a plan."

They stood and Claire followed him downstairs, catching him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight embrace the second they were out of sight.

"You are raising two of my very favorite people," she told him, tucked tight against his chest with no plans to let go.

"They love ye sae much," he replied, his lips caressing the top of her head.

_I love ye sae much,_ he couldn't yet say.

"Oh, Jamie, I love _them_. Very much." She reached up and kissed him softly, with the kind of tenderness she couldn't imagine two people having a simple affair would share. No, this was so very much more than that, and she found herself powerless to stop it. 

"Thank ye for helping, wi' Fiona's hair," he added, his hand smoothing up and down her back. She could see that there was something else on the tip of his tongue, something he was holding back, but with a glance at the clock behind him she decided now was not the time to pry. Someone next door would likely be wondering what had taken her so long. 

"I'm happy to help," Claire replied, unable to resist kissing him again. She wasn't altogether certain she'd be able to make it through an entire evening, watching him from across the room and chatting as though they were nothing but neighbors, so she'd take what provisions she could get now. "I should get going, though, people should be arriving soon."

"Aye," Jamie nodded, loosening his hold on her though he didn't release her entirely. She watched as his eyes wandered down her body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as it often did before he kissed her— _really_ kissed her. She felt the familiar flood of arousal between her legs, wondering if she'd lose her mind altogether at being so close without having him tonight. "Ye look _smashing,_ Sassenach." His voice, dripping with honey and lust, didn't help matters, and she knew she was blushing like a mad woman.

_Little did he know..._

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," she retorted, her Southern accent playful and flat. She winked as she forced herself to extract herself from the bliss of his arms. "I'll see you soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! I know many of you were anxious for Claire to get back to her work in medicine and the day has arrived! We. Love. To see it. As always, your reading means the world to me, and I love hearing your thoughts in the comments. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Edit: I completely forgot to thank my wonderful betas, Janmarie and SanRafJoel, without whose encouraging words and keen eyes I would be a mess of double spaces and lost apostrophes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The long awaited birthday party. I know I made promises that it would be out earlier in the week, but the muse was having none of that. She comes and goes as she pleases, apparently. But she has finally blessed us with some hopefully good content. Thank you for reading, you beautiful people!
> 
> And a trigger warning for just a touch of non-consent at the very end. It doesn't go further than kissing, but don't read if that kind of material is difficult for you, and I'm happy to answer any questions

**A** s silly as it was, Claire reveled in answering the door. It was a simple act, so utterly normal, but that was the beauty of it. For just a moment, welcoming people she actually liked into her home, she got to feel _normal._ The world was not spinning out of control around her, her marriage wasn't crumbling beneath her feet, she wasn't floating about listlessly in a strange country living a life that was so, so far from what she wanted. It was a nice façade, greeting her friends and teasing Geillis for her tardiness (and the underlying reason, as evidenced by the bruise blossoming just below her earlobe), but façades crumble. This one in particular was splintered by Frank's hovering presence, his touches and kisses. It felt possessive, _showy_ in a way that wasn't at all like him. 

Jamie's arrival didn't help matters, either, but somehow it was still the best part of her evening thus far. She already knew what he was wearing, how he'd look, but somehow when she found him on the other side of the door it was like the first time. Perhaps it was the obvious parallel to the day they met that inspired the fluttering feeling in her stomach; him on her porch, looking handsome as all get out (albeit decidedly less concerned). Perhaps it was the way he looked at her, the flash of unadulterated desire in his eyes before he regained control of himself, or the remembrance that barely an hour ago he had been kissing her. Perhaps it was just Jamie himself, but when he pulled her into a quick hug her knees went weak like a schoolgirl and she was thankful that no one was around to see it. 

"Yer beautiful, Sassenach," he murmured against her ear as he pulled away, the slightest smirk on his lips as he met her eyes again.

_Not you look beautiful, or that dress is beautiful, but you_ are _beautiful._

"Thank you, Jamie," she replied, flashing him a cheeky look as she took the bottle of wine he'd brought. To anyone else's eyes, that's all she was thanking him for. 

"I've got another wee present for ye but I didna think it appropriate for the party." His voice was low, meant just for her ears as he followed her toward the ballroom, where the indoor portion of the party was set up. 

"Oh, something tells me it's none so _wee_ ," Claire teased in a similarly covert tone, setting the bottle on the built with the others. "Scotch?"

"Ye know me well."

"Jamie, yer here! Meet Louise!" Geillis flew in from the terrace with Louise in tow and wrapped Jamie in a hug, topping off her glass of champagne as she introduced the two.

"Aye, I heard ye managed to reel in a new victim," Jamie teased, the pad of his finger brushing intentionally against Claire's wrist as he accepted his drink just to watch her carefully concealed reaction. "Jamie'll do just fine, tis a pleasure tae meet ye."

As the four of them caught up, Frank lost to her entirely, probably out on the terrace somewhere. Claire remained firmly in the daydreamy little bubble she and Jamie had wrapped themselves in upon his arrival, even though she couldn't lean against him the way she wanted or feel his hand casually on her waist. It was those small, everyday things she found herself wanting now, fantasizing about. She no longer had to yearn for his body or his attentions, but she could only call for him in the dark, in secret moments that felt too big and too small all at once. Watching Louise and Geillis, she couldn't help the jealousy that wormed its way into her heart. She was happy for her friend, of course she was, but in her she saw something she wanted. Something she couldn't have because of a decision she'd made a lifetime ago. She could hardly admit it even to herself, but had she known that Jamie was out there, _made_ just for her it seemed, that decision would have been different.

Eventually their little circle parted ways, floating in separate directions out into the yard, but Claire could feel Jamie's eyes on her the whole night through. It was wrong, and more than a little naughty, but a part of her enjoyed it, knowing he was watching her. Even across the room, she could see in his eyes that his thoughts had not remained entirely decent. His gaze never burned hotter, though, than when Frank was with her. A few glasses of wine had rendered her husband overly tactile, resting his hand on the small of her back or squeezing her hip as he passed. As they sat, catching up with a few other couples from the block, Frank played with her curls in a fashion so reminiscent of Jamie that every muscle in her body wanted to bat him away. 

_He doesn't even like my hair,_ she thought, disdain coloring her every look at Frank. _Did he ever?_

It almost seemed he was making extra efforts to be close to her, affection laced in their every interaction that Claire felt she had little choice but to tolerate. It clearly inflamed her lover, though his tells were likely imperceptible to anyone but her—the restless tapping of his fingers against his thigh, the tight set of his jaw as he met her gaze for a fleeting second. She was more than a little ashamed by her reaction, but she couldn't help the little thrill that tingled through her whenever their eyes met. 

Just before she blew out her candles—a none so subtle 38 of them—Frank insisted on making a toast in which he announced (without permission) her decision to return to work, _lauded_ said decision in a manner that was the complete antithesis of his actual reaction to the news, and, the cherry on top, tilted her chin up into a kiss that was long and slow and entirely inappropriate. Claire felt the heat of embarrassment in the tips of her ears as he finally released her and, even though she knew everyone's attention was turned on her she couldn't help but shoot a quick look of apology at Jamie with the blind hope that it would go otherwise unnoticed. His shoulders were squared tightly, the tendons in his neck straining against the skin. It suddenly felt like a very bad idea, insisting he come. She'd watched him shrug off simple flirtations from a few of her single friends over the course of the evening and that was enough to make her hot with jealousy—she couldn't imagine watching another woman touch him as Frank had touched her, or God forbid kiss him. The selfish little thrill was not gone entirely, but dampened by the desire to disappear, taking him with her to cradle his head against her chest and apologize, over and over in every way she could until she knew he believed it.

More than anything, she wanted to be his.

**W** ith a quick look around the yard to ensure her guests were all occupied with their cake and each others company, Claire slipped quietly into the empty ballroom and then the attached hallway, resting her back against the wall in an attempt to find some semblance of grounding. Playing _Mrs. Randall_ had been especially taxing tonight, and Jamie's eyes boring into her didn't help matters. She knew she'd only have a moment to collect herself, lest anyone take notice of her absence, but she'd take what she could get.

She didn't hear the second click of the door, or the footsteps stalking down the hallway behind her as she retreated to the secondary loo—tucked away and much less liable to be used by guests—but Jamie was there nonetheless, slipping in after her with just enough space to spare and locking them in. 

" _Mrs. Randall_ ," he spat before she could collect herself, silencing her with a kiss that made her head spin. She could feel the jealousy coming off of him in waves and he pressed her backwards til the edge of the marble countertop bit harshly into her thighs, ravaging her mouth with lips, tongue and teeth in such a way that furious desire pooled between her thighs in an instant. She'd never seen him quite like this, fuming with rage that looked like lust and lust that looked like rage, his grasp on her waist harder than necessary as he set her on the counter. 

" _Jamie_ ," she managed weakly between his attacks. Whether it was a protest or a plea, she wasn't entirely certain, but her body decided for her as it so often did with him. She grasped at the collar of his shirt to keep herself steady as her legs slung over his hips, pulling him tight against her. He was already hard and pressing urgently against her through his trousers, bent on having her in a way that only roused her further.

"I canna stand tae see ye with him like that," he growled, covetous hands grasping roughly at her body. They never settled in once place too long; he needed to touch all of her, claim _all_ of her or he feared he'd lose his mind. Or, far worse, he'd lose her. "Touchin' ye all night and kissin' ye, kissin' what's _mine_ —I could kill ye for it." 

He was tugging at her skirts now, careless enough that somewhere in the back of her mind she worried he would tear them, but she found herself speechless as he cupped her center, her hips canting of their own accord into his insistent touch. 

" _Mine,_ " he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. In any other situation, or from any other man, Claire would be appalled, perhaps even frightened, but as Jamie pulled back from his assault on her lips just long enough to meet her eyes, she'd never wanted someone so badly in her life. She rucked her skirts all the way up, baring herself to him, and reached down to shimmy off her knickers but he slapped her hands away, smirking wickedly as he pulled them unceremoniously to the side and fed his cock into her waiting heat.

"Jamie—God, _fuck_!" She gasped, grasping the curls at the nape of his neck.

" _Watch_ , as I _take_ ye," he demanded, restraint only evident in his hushed voice as he grabbed her by the back of the thighs and tilted her to an angle more pleasurable for himself. On instinct alone, Claire reached back with both hands and caught herself, her chest heaving as she watched him disappear into her over and over, mesmerized. He shushed her gruffly when a particularly deep thrust forced a breathy, high pitched sound from her slackened lips, his eyes black and full of warning.

"Kiss me," she whimpered, _keep me quiet._ But he refused, baring his teeth as he doubled down, intent on watching her struggle to stay quiet herself.

"If I can be quiet watching him on ye all night ye can be quiet while I fuck ye." 

Releasing his bruising grip on one of her thighs, he ran a hand over the soft chiffon of her dress—altogether wrong for the occasion, too innocent for a possession such as this—to span the small of her back, forcing her to arch further into him. Claire only vaguely noticed the discomfort of the position as his pelvis ground against her bundle of nerves at the height of each thrust, too busy digging her teeth into her bottom lip in an attempt to remain soundless. His eyes dropped to her lips and she could have smacked him for the pleased look that settled across his features. 

"Wouldna' want anyone tae hear ye scream for me, Sassenach," he purred, bringing one hand to her face and running a thumb across her lips. She knew by the set of his jaw that he was close, chasing her right into oblivion, and though her arms were quaking she managed to reach for his shirt and pull herself up to him, the change in angle making her quiver around him.

"Kiss me, you bastard," she snarled, taking what she wanted from him as he did from her. They swallowed each other's cries as the earth shattered below their feet, everything but their joining disappearing as Jamie spilled himself inside her and she clenched around him. 

Panting, Jamie wrapped her still shuddering body in his arms and crushed her to his chest, bending to bury his face in her soft curls. They stayed like that for a long, long moment, Claire clinging to him as she caught her breath, her heart racing.

"I'm sorry, mo nighean donn," Jamie whispered desperately, pressing a kiss into her hair as he squeezed her tighter. "I didna hurt ye, did I?" 

Claire shook her head and took his face in her hands, brows knit together as she looked at him, imploring him to understand that he didn't have a thing in the world to apologize for. She wanted to weep with how clearly, how _deeply_ this man cared for her but she kept herself under wraps, thumbs tenderly stroking the stubble along his jaw.

"I should be apologizing to you," she murmured, resting her forehead against his and pressing a kiss to his waiting lips. "It was wrong of me to make you come, Jamie, I'm sorry." 

With arms around his neck she hugged him again, breaking apart inside into a million little pieces as she held him to her. She felt like the most selfish woman in the world, cheating on Frank, hurting Jamie; disregarding everyone but herself. Jamie's large hand cupped the back of her neck and she let her head drop to his shoulder, reveling in the comfort he gave her. She didn't deserve it, but still she took it. 

"We ought tae get back," Jamie whispered, though his hold on her didn't drop. Claire mumbled an agreement, turning to press a kiss an open mouthed kiss to the salty skin of his neck. As broken as she felt, swallowed up with shame, she would have stayed in that moment for a hundred years, safe in his arms. But Jamie was right, if they were gone any longer they'd arouse suspicion and nobody needed that. She slid off the counter, avoiding his gaze as they silently righted themselves. 

Jamie caught her before she could reach for the doorknob, pulling her into a kiss that was as passionate as it was tender, melting slowly together for just one more moment. Pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, before she lost courage, Claire murmured, "I...I am yours, Jamie," and left him with one final kiss. 

**"T** here she is!" Murtagh blurted as she rounded the corner into the ballroom. Expecting to find it empty, Claire jumped at the sound of his voice, her hand flying to her chest.

"Oh, Murtagh! I didn't—you surprised me." She pulled in the subtlest belly breaths she could, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. She had to get them out of here before Jamie came.

"We were beginnin' tae wonder where ye'd gone off to," he added, holding his ground as Claire started toward the backyard. 

"Oh, I—stepped out to make coffee. Would either of you like a cup?" She immediately scolded herself internally for the worst possible lie—one that would require nonexistent proof that she'd just happily offered up. 

"No, we're just gettin' ready tae head home," Jocasta replied. There was something odd in her voice that Claire couldn't quite put a finger on, but she had plenty of other things to worry about. "It was a lovely party, Claire; and Frank gave such a sweet toast! Yer a lucky lass."

"I am," Claire replied with a forced smile, though her anxiety was rising. Jamie was going to appear behind her at any moment, and that wasn't going to look good. Just as she began to truly panic, her eyes caught on something red through the french windows and she had to control the absolute disbelief that threatened to color her features as Jamie strode through the door, smiling casually as though nothing had happened.

_As though she hadn't just admitted that she was completely, irreconcilably his, with her words and what little else she could give him._

"Auntie, are ye leavin'?" 

Jocasta turned toward the sound of his voice, clearly surprised.

"Aye, it's late for we old timers," she replied with a chuckle, reaching out for Jamie to take her hand. "Where were ye? Murtagh said ye werena out on the terrace."

"Och, the sitter texted, said Fiona had a nightmare. So I went over to get her back down. I must say, tis awfully convenient, goin' tae parties next door tae yer own house," Jamie answered smoothly, not a hint of effort obvious in his voice or his demeanor.  


Claire had to fight the urge to smirk. _You're damn good, Fraser,_ she wanted to tell him. She could have kissed him for his quick thinking. 

**M** urtagh and Jocasta seemed to set off the charge, and the remaining guests dwindled until Claire found herself alone with Frank (and Jamie's ghost, enduring in her memory), the house echoey and darkened around her as she followed him upstairs. She took her time getting ready, not at all eager to so much as lie in bed with her husband. Each time she looked at him her resentment deepened, simply because he wasn't Jamie. It wasn't fair to him, she knew that. None of this was. But unhappiness wasn't fair to her, either. She just didn't quite know how to go about changing it for herself. That was the hardest part, she thought as she slipped beneath the sheets, careful to remain pointedly on her side of the mattress; she was just _stuck_. 

She felt she shifting on the bed before she felt him and braced herself for what was coming: Frank curled up behind her, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

"Happy birthday, darling," he murmured, smoothing his hand up and down her arm. "I hope you liked your party." 

"I did, thank you," she replied tightly, fighting the urge to squirm out of his arms. He wasn't doing _anything_ wrong, not really. He just wasn't who she wanted to end her nights with. 

She had hoped that he'd let it be after that, but he only held her tighter, his hand resting on her stomach, pressing her into his half hard length. 

"I'm glad," he replied, kissing and nuzzling at her neck.

"Frank, I'm tired," Claire said, an unintended edge in her voice as she shifted away from him.

"Come on, Claire." He took her by the shoulder and rolled her toward him, the scent of stale wine evident on his breath as he tried to kiss her. He looked shocked when she pushed him off and pushed herself up to sit. "Claire, don't be—you're not getting any younger, you know. I thought you might like to try and start a family before we run out of time."

Claire's jaw dropped at that and she looked at him warily for a moment. That was low, even for him.

"Fuck you and goodnight, Frank," she replied primly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and grabbing her pillow before starting toward the door. He called her name but she didn't turn or slow; only warned him not to follow as she disappeared down the hallway, grimacing as she wiped at her lips and locked herself in the guest room. She hardly expected him to follow her, but one final dig at him, wether or not he ever knew about it, made her feel a little better.

Settling alone into the too-big four poster, she had half a mind to go to Jamie. She wanted to, more than anything; wanted the solace of his arms, wanted the taste of his lips to make her forget the feeling of Frank's, wanted his tenderness to erase every unkind word her husband had ever had for her. But she convinced herself that that was irresponsible, selfish and rash—it wasn't any kind of real solution to things. Unfortunately, this wasn't the kind of situation that could be fixed in one night, one simple action. It would be messier than that, slower and uglier, but as she curled around a pillow in hopes that Jamie would visit her in her dreams, she couldn't imagine a world in which it wouldn't be worth the effort. She conjured him in her mind— the adoration in his eyes when he looked at her, the way he felt inside her, the sound of his laugh, the crinkled corners of his eyes when he smiled—and thought to herself that it was very possible Jamie Fraser was worth just about everything to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely unrelated, but as a Minnesotan and a human being I would be remiss not to draw attention to what is going on in Minneapolis right now. It is unconscionable. If any readers are willing and able to donate, organizations like North Star Health Collective, Black Visions Collective and Reclaim the Block are doing the good work. Please reach out with any questions. Love, love, love. 
> 
> https://www.northstarhealthcollective.org/donate?fbclid=IwAR2nK6cyk5WQGMQ6pUz3JUgYqGfw8yRR2plJTdOqDjpHIjVdBf1jsu0MOgk  
> https://secure.everyaction.com/4omQDAR0oUiUagTu0EG-Ig2  
> https://secure.everyaction.com/zae4prEeKESHBy0MKXTIcQ2


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, I don't own any quotes taken from the book or the TV series.
> 
> And just reminder, you can find me @SassenachThroughTime on tumblr for updates on the progress of the story and other fun stuff!

**C** laire could have spent the day thinking about what Frank had said to her or how he behaved after the party, but decided that a day lost in thought about him was a day wasted—he couldn't have been further from her mind. He'd made himself scarce all morning, notably cautious when their paths did cross, but for the most part he was locked away in his office doing whatever it was museum stewards did—she could have cared less. When she did think of him, it was only the realization that he hadn't apologized, hadn't offered _any_ recognition that he'd been in the wrong, which only served to fuel her contempt. He'd attempted small talk when they first met in the kitchen, but as soon as he realized he wasn't going to get anything out of her, he was gone. She didn't mind his absence in the slightest—he was just about the last person she wanted to see, and it gave her plenty of uninterrupted time to think about Jamie. 

She was drowning in him, in the bright blue of his eyes and the hypnotic timbre of his voice. She'd fallen in love, _truly_ in love, once before, with a sweet teachers assistant who walked her home after class and grew bashful when she so much as looked at him. It had felt like magic then, at twenty, but it was nothing compared to this. She wouldn't use the word yet, not outside the safety of her own mind, but she knew what was happening and she was powerless to stop it. He was with her every moment of the day and night, his voice in her mind, the ghost of his touch on her skin, possessing her even when he was nowhere in sight. 

She was met with a more concrete reminder of him that morning, too, when she slipped into the main bedroom after Frank had gone downstairs to get changed. She hadn't noticed them the night before, but as she stripped off her pajamas she found pale purple bruises, not too deep but certainly noticeable, blooming on her skin. Blushing hot and heady at the sight, she'd turned to examine them, his fingerprints on her hips and thighs. A reminder, pressed into her very body, that he was just as hers as she was his. She found herself in the mirror again and again that day, pulling up the hem of her shift just to look at them, pressing with her own fingertips just to feel the ache.  Heat pooled in her belly each time as she thought about the act that had left them. No one had ever loved her like that before—and that's exactly what he had done. It wasn't just sex, it wasn't just fucking, it wasn't so simple as stolen evenings together on the couch, ignoring the bounds of reality; it was loving and being loved in the best way she had ever known. She'd be wrong not to follow that wherever it lead her, wouldn't she? Doubts and insecurities still swam in her mind, but she found comfort in the reminder that she didn't have to have a solution that day, or even the next. It would be slow and complex, with everything that was at play, but she could live with that. The only answer she needed for now was that Jamie was the thing she was racing toward and that couldn't be wrong.

Her day as yet uninterrupted by Frank, Claire finished off the morning's tasks and pushed Jamie from her mind, only for the sake of studying for her licensing exam. She settled into the large wicker armchair on the corner of the porch facing her garden with a plate of hummus and veg and her textbooks, intent on spending the afternoon surrounded by the peace of nature and immersed in the world of medicine. It began to dawn on her, as she worked through her own personal refresher course, that this wasn't merely about returning to work. That was tantamount to the freedom it would give her—if she passed, and was accepted into a residency program that would sponsor a visa, she wouldn't have to worry about being deported back to the UK when she left Frank. She would be left safely stateside, untouched and untethered, free to have the life she yearned for.  One with Jamie, and Nora and Fiona; all the time, out in the open, sharing with them days that wouldn't have to end. It would let her be with him the way he deserved, not clouded in shame and secrecy.

Her heart felt lighter in her chest, the realization only spurring her on to study harder. She wasn't terribly worried about passing—she was a good doctor, a good student —but there was so much riding on this one day, this one test that would determine her future in more ways than one. She stayed there for what felt like hours, her plate and water glass long since empty, pencil flying across her notebook pages as she reviewed the finer points of the profession she held so dear. It wasn't until she heard giggles and the closing of a door that she lost focus, but once the Frasers were outside, she knew there would be no further studying that afternoon. The girls didn't yet see that she was outside, though it wouldn't be long before they checked the yard for signs of their favorite playmate, so Claire took advantage of the moment to play voyeur, turning to peek around the side of her chair as they played. She watched as Jamie chased them around the yard, spinning them around or throwing them up in the air, inspiring breathless giggles. The beatific smile never left him, wether he was pulled to the ground and made to fly them like airplanes or cradling them like babies and pretending to drop them, catching them at the last moment as they shrieked and laughed. As joy itself seemed to spark in the air around them, Claire imagined a world where she was there too, the grass beneath her feet and Jamie's chin resting on her shoulder, the two of them watching as the girls played together. 

When she heard the telltale, "Daddy, can we see if Claire's home?" she quickly ducked back into the safety of her chair so as not to be caught and opened her medical book for cover.  


The girls called her name and her head popped out from behind the chair, her grin buried in her shoulder as she watched their eyes light up. 

"Claire will ye come play wi' us?" they chorused, running to her with big, expectant eyes.

"I would love to! Would you help me bring my things into the house?" Still at the age where they loved jobs, _any_ job, so long as it was presented the right way, the agreed and eagerly took what she gave them, then followed behind her into the house.

"Whats this book?" Nora asked, her little nose scrunched up as she looked and the boring, picture-free cover. 

"It's a textbook for doctors," Claire answered, setting her dishes in the sink and lifting her study materials from the girls hands. "I'm taking a big test this spring to see if I can be a doctor here like I was in England."

"Would you be our doctor then?!" Fiona chimed in, reaching for Claire's hand as they exited the house and headed next door.

"I should hope not! I'm not the kind of doctor that you go to for check ups." 

"What kind of doctor are ye, then?"

"I'm an orthopedic surgeon, so I fix peoples bones when they're broken. And I certainly don't want either of you breaking any bones!" she answered, barely able to finish her explanation before the girls tore off into the yard towards Jamie with the announcement that Claire was coming to play.  


He turned from his spot in the corner of the yard where he seemed to be staring at a large angel oak tree—why, she didn't know— and it took everything in her not to take off just as the children had and throw herself into his arms. They'd not seen each other since the party, when the night had ended in a quick, cordial goodbye with Frank at her side as Jamie took his leave. She couldn't recall wanting anything so badly as she had wanted him, since the moment they parted ways in the bathroom. Too much had gone unsaid, hanging between them in the hours that spanned between the last time they touched. 

"Hello, Sassenach," he said warmly. His eyes were brighter and bluer for the reflection of the open sky in them, but there was something tentative there, too, that Claire couldn't quite place. If it weren't for the girls, dancing and wiggling around them, eager to keep playing, she would have dropped all else to find out what it was, but as it stood there were more pressing matters at hand, not the least of which was the girls pleas for him to go get their fairy wings.

"Settle, settle," he admonished them, though he laughed as he bent down. "Why don't ye get them yerselves? Ye ken where yers are, and ye can use a stool to get Claire's from the toy closet. D'ye think ye can carry the box?"

"Aye, Daddy!"

With that the girls were off on another job, and Claire watched as Jamie quieted the impulse to reach for her, his muscles tight for a moment as he held his ground. She almost wished he had, but she knew better—it was broad daylight, and though his yard offered some cover, there were still plenty angles from which they could be seen. Unfortunately, they'd have to content themselves with standing as casually as the neighbors they'd never really even been.

"I've been thinkin' of ye," Jamie said, his whole demeanor so heartbreakingly soft as he looked into her tiger-like eyes, though his fingers twitched against his thigh. She caught them out of the corner of her eye and it touched her, the knowing she felt in her soul after a simple look, that it took just as much from him not to touch her.

"I've been thinking about you, too. I haven't stopped," Claire admitted, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she looked up at him through thick lashes. "I—I hated watching you go last night."

"Believe me, I didna like leavin' ye either, knowin' I was leavin' ye with him. I had half a mind tae throw ye over my shoulder and take ye home with me." Claire sighed, though her face was touched with sadness at all the things they couldn't have. Jamie saw it, as he always did, and his whole body called out to him to take her in his arms and kiss away the lines between her brows. All he had was words but it wasn't enough, not for Claire. Nothing ever would be, but still he wanted to gather everything he had and everything he was and drop it at her feet to do with as she pleased. He knew, somewhere deep in his soul, in the place where he spoke to her without the need for words, that in an easier world she would guard it with all the love she had. 

Christ, she was too _good,_ to soft and beautiful, loving and loved, to ever look so sorrowful, and if words were all Jamie had, he would wield them as best he could. "I want verra badly tae kiss ye right now, mo nighean donn," he murmured, imploring her to understand that he wished to offer her so much more. 

Claire was struck almost teary at that, trembling with the effort to keep herself from folding him in her arms and seeking refuge in the soft, warm skin of his neck.  "I do, too." Her voice broke and she blinked away the tears that threatened, offering him a small smile in lieu of everything else she wanted to give him. She wanted to tell him what she'd thought about since the night before, that there was a way forward, for _them_ ; that if he wanted it so she'd be right there beside him. But not yet, not until she'd done more planning, thought things through more carefully. She didn't know if she could live with herself if she gave him hope only to have it delayed, or worse, dashed altogether. The mere thought of hurting him was a nightmare. 

But something in him still seemed unsure. It was so much easier to comfort him and convince him of her love when she could use her body. In that space, pressed against him, free to touch and caress, to take him inside herself until he had no no choice but to believe her, she didn't need to get lost in the fears or the far reaching implications of verbalizing what she felt for him. All she had to do was love, with the trust that Jamie would know the truth of her soul. Here, she didn't have that luxury, and with him so close, she felt the loss acutely.

"I meant what I said, Jamie." It wasn't enough, wasn't _I love you_ or _forever_ , but the uncertainty still melted from his face, incredulity and then joy taking its place as a smile spread across his lips. He looked at her like it was the first time and in a way it was; with those simple words, spoken in the heat of the moment but confirmed when the flames had calmed, she gave him something, intangible as it was, that changed everything. She was no longer a waking dream, eluding him each time she left. She had told him, in the best way she could, that she wanted him the same way he wanted her.

Claire flushed under warmth of his gaze and ducked her head, playing nervously with her hands.

"Look at me," he urged her. His voice was tenderness itself, and Claire new it wasn't a request. When their eyes met again, she felt the familiar, sparkling something she'd known with him all along, but now she could give it a name, if only to herself. "I did, too. Christ, I'm goin' tae kiss ye dizzy the second I get a chance, Sassenach."

"I'll hold you to that, Fraser," she replied, full of promise, as the girls burst forth from the house. 

Jamie didn't get a chance to make good on his promise that afternoon, busy as they were with the girls. Though she ached for his touch, his body pressed against her, the perfectly _Jamie_ taste of his lips, Claire found she was so overwhelmingly content to be with her favorite trio that it hardly mattered. They passed the whole afternoon together, functioning effortlessly and joyfully as a unit. Claire had been taken with Jamie as a father from the day they met, always looking on with a flutter in her heart when he was with his children; she'd never thought about it before him, but there was something undeniably attractive about a grown man who could really _play_. Jamie had that in spades, wether he was wrestling or playing pretend with their vast collection of dolls, he was completely involved and so charmingly silly. As much as she loved it from afar, though, it was even more enthralling to be a part of. Her best days stateside had been spent traipsing about in fairy wings and tiny tiaras, reading children's books and chasing the little ones through the back yard. The Frasers had cracked her heart wide open and taken it for themselves—it had never been in better hands.

All afternoon, she basked in the way Jamie looked at her, the adoration in his eyes matching her own when they caught each other's gaze. Without having to exchange words or promises, she knew now that he harbored the same fantasy, the wish that this could be their life. _Together_. Despite the complications, all the potential messes she'd gone over in her mind that morning, to have days like this that wouldn't have to end when the sun faded toward the horizon would be worth the world over. As they said their goodbyes for the sake of school night bedtime, Jamie promised her quietly that he'd take his lunch at home tomorrow—her _real_ birthday—so they could spend the afternoon together, and Claire left counting down the hours.

**"W** ere you next door _all_ day?" Frank asked when she slipped in through the back door. She'd been hoping the whole walk over that he was in his office, or somewhere otherwise occupied so she didn't have to face that exact question but here he was, perched in the back sitting room with his laptop and a cocktail. As little attention as she tried to pay him, she couldn't help but notice that _that_ was new. He was never big on end of day drinks, and if he did indulge it had always been with her. He'd even criticized her for her occasional solo glass of wine over the years. She could tell in his eyes that it wasn't his first. It piqued her curiosity, but she catalogued it for later, something to keep an eye out for—after such a wonderful day, she didn't want to dampen the rest of the evening with an uncomfortable conversation. 

"No, I was studying for quite a while and then the girls asked me over," she replied nonchalantly. In reality she'd spent far more of her day with the Frasers than she had with her studies, but he didn't need to know that. 

"Well I suppose I'm glad you've found someone else's children to fill your void," he snapped. The sound of the glass scraping against the table seemed louder than his voice in her mind, but that sentiment managed to cut through. 

" _Frank._ " She looked at him for a moment, utterly taken aback, and she couldn't help the bitter huff of a laugh echoed through the kitchen. "First off, that's _assuming_ that I have some—womanly void, and second: Do you really think comments like make me terribly eager to have children with you?" Both were lies in their own way—she did have something of a void, but it wasn't some long burning desire that she'd spent her life stoking, always moving toward the moment when she could finally fulfill her natural duty and be a mother. It wasn't until she met Fiona and Nora that she truly saw herself as capable of such a thing, but there wasn't a single cell in her that wanted children who'd call Frank their father. That, really, had fallen out of the picture long ago, she just hadn't seen it happen. 

"All I'm saying, Claire, 's that you're pushing forty. You can play mommy with those girls all you want but _your_ window is closing."

"You're drunk," she said slowly, as surprised by the verbalized realization as he was by the accusation. He started to say something but stopped himself, his head looking a little unstable atop his neck as he stared her down. When she noticed the jump of a hiccup through his small frame, she leveled him with a final disapproving look and stalked past him into the kitchen without a word. 

It wasn't until she was fixing herself a quick dinner that the hurt of what he'd said really sunk in. He might have been drunk, but it didn't take away the truth of the matter: if she was even fertile at all, which remained to be seen, she wasn't going to stay that way for long. What if Jamie wanted more children? He was younger than she; she didn't suspect substantially, but enough that it mattered. It was obvious to anyone who saw him with his girls that he loved being a parent. She imagined that he and  Annelise would have had more if not for her passing, and Claire feared she wouldn't be able to give that to him. As much as she tried to fight it, alone at the dining table, a flood of images paraded through her mind, of children who might never exist. Little boys with brown curls and bright blue eyes, tiny girls with the fuzzy, red hair and chubby rolls of babyhood. She imagined lying in bed with him sidled up beside her, his big hand spanning the swell of her belly as he whispered to _their_ baby in Gaelic. Even as she sniffled and wiped at the corners of her eyes she couldn't stop seeing it all, her heart clenched so tight in her chest it hurt. 

Not wanting Frank to see that she'd been crying, she glanced into the large, stately mirror on the opposite wall to wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks and right herself as best she could before she returned her half eaten dinner to the kitchen. He wasn't likely to notice much of anything in this state, anyway, but she was still grateful that he was nowhere to be seen as she readied for bed in their shared bathroom. She thought she could vaguely hear him on the phone from his office as she padded down the hallway toward the guest room—God help whoever was on the other end of the line—but the double doors clicking shut behind her drowned out any other sound, and she collapsed gratefully onto the mattress with a heavy sigh. Before she could stop herself she reached for her phone on the nightstand and typed out a text to Jamie.

_Can't wait to see you tomorrow xo_

She watched for the three little dots for a moment, then realized that he was probably busy putting the girls to bed. She could see it in her minds eye, him sitting between their beds, one hand rubbing each of their backs as he lent his adorably tone deaf voice to Loch Lomond, quiet so as to let them drift off into dreams. Before she could spiral all over again, she fished the remote out of the bedside table and turned the TV on, scanning Netflix for something easy and mindless to distract her. A docu-series aptly called _Babies_ popped up in her list of recommendations and the self destructor inside her almost selected it, but she resisted and instead pressed play on whatever series popped up next, something featuring a blonde and a brunette who both looked vaguely recognizable but not entirely famous. It was distracting enough, but what really saved her was Posey launching herself onto the bed and wandering slowly over to Claire's side. 

"Hello, sweet thing," she cooed, scooping her up and snuggling her little white body against her chest. "I didn't even know you were in here! Thank you for the visit." Posey curled up happily and Claire scratched behind her ears, grateful for something to nurture as she settled in for the evening. 

She was fully enthralled in the show by the time her phone dinged, but perked up as if she knew who it was without looking, reaching toward the nightstand carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping cat on her chest. 

_Neither can I, Sorcha_ _❤️_

She couldn't help but smile at her phone, his short but sweet response settling the turmoil that had its hooks in her heart. She typed out a few responses but erased them each time. _I wish I could wake up in your arms on my birthday_ and _I'll remember today for the rest of my life_ and _I'm falling in love with you_ all seemed like a little much, the kind of things he deserved to hear in person so he could see the complete truth of them in her.

She settled on _Thank you for today_ , and then, just a moment later, _My best days are always with you_ _❤️_

This was probably what flirting was like for teenagers now, waiting with giddy hears and smiles as they watched the little bubble appear and disappear, wondering what the object of their affection would say, or what they were typing and quickly deemed unfit. There was a charm to it, she had to admit, as she imagined Jamie smiling down at his phone in the same silly way, the corners of his eyes crinkled. She could only hope that her words took hold of his heart the way his did hers.

_Mine are with you. I think the girls would agree, they couldn't stop talking about you. They love their Fairy Clairy. I should make sure I'm well rested for what I've got planned for you, though. Goodnight🌚_

_I'm counting down the hours😘_

With that, Claire plugged her phone back in on the nightstand and settled back against the pillows, Posey vibrating with contented little sounds as she stroked her soft fur. Jamie was like a balm to her soul—even a simple text exchange could calm all the unrest in her almost as effectively as the solace of his arms. 

**T** he morning dragged on slowly, as time often did when she was waiting for something, and though Claire tried to distract herself with little tasks around the house, each time she looked up at the clock it hadn't moved nearly as much as she thought it should have. By the time 12:45 hit and her phone pinged, Claire was draped unceremoniously across the living room couch preparing for death by anticipation. She hopped up excitedly to double check that was Jamie, but left her phone abandoned on the counter as she left—she didn't want anything to distract her from precious uninterrupted time with him. She forced herself to slow her pace as she approached his back door, to be _cool_ , but inside she was already buzzing with hunger. Though their little bathroom tryst happened only two days ago, it felt like she hadn't kissed him in years.

He was waiting in the open door when she arrived, looking terribly smug as he blocked her way.

"What's the password?" he asked with a smirk when she arrived in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes at him, though she wore on her lips a matching expression, then took his face in her hands and kissed him hard.

"Good lass," he hummed as they parted, stepping aside to allow her in. Strange; she'd never been into that sort of thing, certainly hadn't tried it out with Frank, but coming from Jamie the two simple words send a flood of arousal to her core. Not that she needed it—she'd been thinking of him all morning.

With the door safely closed behind them he pulled her flush to him, his hands over the bruises on her hips making her gasp against his lips as he kissed her with a fervor that burned slow and teasing, his tongue only darting out to swipe across her bottom lip despite her attempts to coax him into giving her more.  Pulling back even as she followed with her lips, not ready for him to stop, he kept himself out of reach just long enough to watch the annoyed look on her face soften to tender gratitude as he wished her a soft happy birthday. She melted against him, burying her face in his neck and holding tight, a whispered thank you against his skin hitting him in the heart and the groin. 

"I'm lucky to spend it with you," she added, gooseflesh covering her skin as she felt his thumbs playing with the band of her panties beneath the cotton of her dress. It rode higher than what she usually wore, settled in the crook of her waist, and she could tell he felt the difference. He licked his lips as he snapped the fabric experimentally against her skin, his eyes already dark when she looked up at him, a teasing smile on her lips.

"Did ye wear somethin' special for me?" he asked, grasping the hem of her dress for a keek. But Claire was faster, out of his arms and backing towards the staircase before he could catch a glimpse. She only hummed in response, leaning back against the railing and striking a little pose with her hands behind her back as she watched him approach. 

"Tis _yer_ birthday, Sassenach. Shouldn't I be the one bearing gifts?" He wrapped his arms around her and weaved his fingers between hers as he spoke, his lips just out of reach as he held her in place. 

"It _is_ my birthday," she echoed, tugging him down by the hands to kiss him hungrily. "And that means I get to do what I want." He didn't hold back this time, his tongue licking against hers as he laid claim on her mouth, eyes open to savor the moment that much more. He watched her with rapt attention, marveling at the responses each of his movements inspired. The fluttering of her lashes against her pinked cheeks was so delicate, a pretty contradiction to the urgency with which she devoured him and grasped at his hands behind her back. When he kissed her hard, her bottom lip trapped for his to suck at, her brows furrowed in such a way that could be misconstrued for pain if it weren't for the muffled moans there too, the way her needy hips rolled against his. 

"Take me to bed?" she pleaded between kisses, the pulsing ache in her core already begging to be sated. Jamie pressed his lips to hers once more and released his hold on her, swatting her arse as it jiggled up the stairs in front of him. She turned and caught him in a too-quick kiss when they reached the top of the stairs, her hand finding his as she tugged him eagerly down the hallway. Stopping just short of the bed, she swung him around in front of her and pushed down, reaching for the hem of her dress to reveal the deep green _something special_ she'd bought just for him, but Jamie was up and swatting at her hands before she could bare herself to him.

"If yer goin' tae bring me a present at least allow me to unwrap it, Sassenach," Jamie tsk-ed, holding her wrists for a moment until he was sure she wouldn't go for the dress again.

"Do as you will," Claire said, her voice throaty with lust as she lowered her hands. 

"No' much to unwrap," he replied with a low chuckle as eased the dress up over her hips. She lifted her arms and he pulled it off, but the lingerie was lost on him when his eyes fell upon the bruises, the color of lilacs in May, blooming on her skin. Jamie gasped her name, his voice laced with worry as he dropped to his knees before her.  He reached for her hips but stopped himself just shy of touching the purpled flesh, his hand hovering there as he looked up at her.

"I—Claire, I _hurt_ ye. Christ, I'll never forgive myself." He wrapped his arms around her thighs, low enough to as to avoid any of the marked flesh, and nuzzled his cheek against her belly. She could feel his heaving breaths, an attempt to control himself as he held her, and rested a hand atop his head, playing gently with the curls there for a moment before she let it slip around his neck to his jaw, tilting it up so he could look at her. 

"No you didn't," Claire told him softly, though he wouldn't meet her eyes. 

"But yer skin," he protested, swallowing hard as he dared to rest his hand softly on the darkened flesh at her hip. "I'm sae sorry, Claire, ye must believe me, I never meant tae—"

" _Jamie_ ," she insisted, her voice stronger as she turned his attention back to her face once more. "No, you didn't. I—liked it." She blushed red at risqué admission, just how titillating she'd found his marks on her body, but resisted the urge to be embarrassed as she laid her hand over his and pressed, a little whine slipping past her lips at the tinge of pain. She held him there even as he tried to pull away, her other hand still on his chin so he couldn't look away, hoping he saw the pleasure written clear on her face. He started to sputter a reply but she shushed him, pulling him to his feet and kissing him before she backed him toward the bed again.

"I liked seeing your marks on my body," she continued, punctuating her words with open mouthed kisses to his collarbone, neck and jaw, "seeing how much you wanted me. Sometimes I'd go to the bathroom just look at them, and it was like I feel your hands on me, grabbing me, making me _yours._ " Sitting before her, he still looked a touch bewildered, though she could see his cock twitching against his jeans. "Take your clothes off."

_If I can't tell you, I'll show you,_ she mused to herself as she watched it spring and lengthen against his stomach upon being freed, his shirt joining the rest of his clothing on the floor as he sat back down as if under a spell.

"You're hard," she purred, leaning down with her hands braced on either side of him, staring him down, " which suggests to me you might like it too." She began a slow trail of sloppy kisses down his torso, pleased by the way his cock pulsed when she stopped to bite and lick at his nipples. She grew bolder as she moved closer to his pelvis, biting and tugging lightly at the skin, his abs quivering under her ministrations. Having him on edge like this, wondering wether the next touch of her mouth would be kind or cruel, was a high all its own and she dropped to her knees, biting harder than she had before, just beside his belly button.

"Does that hurt?" she asked with an innocent batting of her lashes as she looked up at him. 

"Little bit," he panted, his hands fisted in the bedspread as he watched her with fascination in his dark eyes.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." 

He answered immediately, and much to her liking.

His silky hardness jumped as it brushed her cheek, her mouth licking closer and closer to where he wanted her, and a groan fell from his lips as she took his skin between her teeth and tugged hard,  the skin snapping back into place as she released it.

"Do you understand now?" she asked, fisting him in her hand and pumping slowly, the tip straining just inches from her lips. He nodded, words lost to him as she licked at the droplet of moisture that had accumulated there. Satisfied that she'd gotten her point across, she took him in her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks and swallowing as much of him as she could. His hips jerked and twitched as she sucked him, one hand threading through her curls in a gentle, demandless hold. He trusted she would give him what he needed.

She could feel his thighs tense beneath her hands with the effort not to thrust back, and rewarded him with big, amber eyes fixed on his as she drew her  tongue up along the thrumming vein on the underside of his cock, pressing a kiss to the tip and then taking him in her mouth once more, timing her breathing so she could take him deeper. He growled, his lips in a tight snarl as she reached down to cup his balls. Curious to see what his reaction would be, she took her free hand and pinched his inner thigh just as he pressed against the back of her throat, delighted by the choked sob he let out as he tugged her off of him by the hair, just hard enough that she gasped a little.

"Ye'll be the death of me, woman," he panted, pulling her up and into a searing kiss that sent her reeling. In all her sexual experience, no other man had done that, kissed her with such abandon—or at all—after she'd had them in her mouth, but Jamie never cared and it only made him more attractive, if such a thing was possible. Eyes glazed with desire, she shimmied out of her fancy knickers and crawled after him onto the bed, straddling his thighs before he could try and flip her over. 

"Ye shouldna' be doin' all the work on yer birthday, Sassenach," Jamie protested as she held his hands firmly above his head with one hand, the other lining him  up with her slick entrance, but any complaint was forgotten as she sank down til their hips were flush, moaning low in her throat as she adjusted to the stretch of having him inside. 

"I _like_ this work," she replied as she began to move, her hips rolling against his as she stretched like a cat over him. She braced her hands on either side of his head and lowered her lips to ghost against his as she spoke, working herself on his cock all the while. "And when I've had enough, I'll bend over and let you watch my arse jiggle while you plow me from behind like a _good lass_." Just as before, the unexpected and entirely experimental phrase sent a tingling arousal to her core and she rode him harder, his hands coming up to grasp where she was still bruised and tender and making her grit her teeth. Feeling her nipples strain against their see-through caging as they brushed across his chest, Jamie reached around to unclasp the only remaining scrap of fabric between them and reveled in having Claire naked and all to himself. She sat up to shrug it off, the change in angle allowing him even deeper inside her, and instead of lowering herself back within reach of his lips she she stayed like that and made him come to her, looking like the cat that got the cream as he did just that. His lips closed around the pink peak of her breast and she arched her back, pushing against him as he caught the nub between his teeth and flicked his tongue over the tip, making her quiver from the inside out as he brought his hand up to pinch and tug at its twin.  Incoherent whines of his name fell freely from her lips as she began to clench around him, chasing the climax she so desperately needed. 

But instead of following her into oblivion, Jamie pushed her off and climbed atop her, kissing her even as she whined about the loss.

"What the fuck?" she panted, bare chest heaving as she looked up at him. 

"I'll no' last if ye let go like that, lass, and I believe ye made me a promise," he replied smugly, lying on his front between her legs and using his thumbs to spread her open. Still wound tight, Claire's hips began to buck but Jamie wouldn't move even as she strained toward his mouth, just looking at her. "I could stare at your quim all day. So pretty," he mused, dragging the flat of his tongue from her opening to the bundle of nerves that so ached for his attention, then pulling away again. "So pink and puffy and wet for me." He pressed a kiss to her clit this time, sucking it just slightly between his lips before his mouth left her.

"You are maddening," she moaned, hips shifting in a desperate search for completion. 

He could tell by the wetness accumulating before his eyes that she needed him, and Jamie had learned long ago that he couldn't deny her; not like this, seeing her wanting. With a moan, he buried his face between her legs, lapping at her glistening folds as she squirmed and whined, one small, soft hand coming to rest against his shoulder. The vibrations from his pleasured hums and moans, along with his firm, insistent tongue against her, sent her reeling, every muscle in her body clenching and releasing all at once as she lost herself. Jamie didn't stop, though, wrapping his arms around her thighs to hold her in place and ignoring her breathy cries of _I'm too sensitive_ and _enough_ , and just moments after the first subsided Claire was thrown into another brilliant orgasm, white exploding behind her eyes as her hips thrashed. 

"Had enough, lass?" he asked, sounding terribly pleased with himself as he bit the inside of her thigh.

"Not nearly," she shuddered, though her breath had yet to return to normal.

"Good," Jamie replied, sitting back on his haunches and fisting his cock. "On yer knees."

Claire obeyed with a satisfied smirk, forcing herself to move even as her body trembled. She turned away from him and spread her legs wide, twisting her hips teasingly as she let her chin rest on her forearms. She'd never been partial to this position, uncomfortable with the complete lack of control, but with Jamie it was different. She trusted him, _wanted_ to cede that command to him and him alone. The bed shifted beneath her as he draped himself over her body, his cock pressing between her buttocks as he pulled her hair back and licked the shell of her ear. "Good lass."

She moaned at the mere sound of his voice, her heartbeat pulsing at her center as he positioned himself at her entrance and pressed inside. His hands grasping at her hips only heightened her pleasure as he pulled out and then snapped back, their hips slapping together as he buried himself inside her. He took her hard, reveling in her cries as she bent even lower, her cheek to the mattress as she clutched desperately at the comforter. She was so wild and wonderful in moments like this that it took his breath away, everything but pleasure thrown to the wayside, yielding to him with the utmost confidence that his body knew exactly how to give her what she needed. 

Jamie was relentless, his cock curved as if were made just for her, to hit that spot that made her see stars each time he thrust, and between her sensitivity and his delayed pleasure, it didn't take long at all until they let go, Claire clenching tight around him as he spilled himself into her, hips flush as they rode out their quivers and gasps. 

When he finally pulled himself from her body, he didn't waste a second taking her in his arms, leaning back against the pillows and holding her against his chest as they caught their breath. 

"You," Claire sighed, still out of breath, dropping a kiss to his finely carved pectoral before she continued, "are a wonderful man."

"And ye a rare woman," he replied after a moment, blissfully content in the feeling of her small, soft body pressed against him. "Although I didna have ye pegged as the type."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice still lazy with lust and overuse as she raised her head just enough to look at him.

"Just—the type tae enjoy...such things. The bruises, and whatno'."

Claire couldn't help the laugh that bubbled forth. "I didn't either," she admitted, shivering at the patterns he drew across her skin with one gentle fingertip. "I didn't know I liked it til _you_ did it."

"Full of surprises, ye are." He swatted her lightly on the ass and forced himself to check the time, his phone screen lighting up with a secret picture of Claire and his daughters. He'd taken it through the kitchen window one day when they were out back, enjoying a tea party in the sunshine, decked out in fairy wings, crowns and necklaces. It was reckless, he knew, to have it there so blatantly, but the joy it gave him to see it was worth the extra mindfulness that guarding his phone now required. "Would ye care tae take a wee cat nap? I dinna have tae leave for another twenty minutes or so." Claire hummed her approval as he set a timer and reached for the blanket folded none so neatly at the end of the bed to cover them with. 

"Jamie?" she asked, the racing of his heart slowing beneath her palm as they laid together. "What's a quim?"

"Context clues, Sassenach," he teased, squeezing her a little tighter and pressing a kiss to her forehead before they drifted off.

**J** ocasta Cameron's house wasn't the kind one could see from the road. Tucked away within her numerous acres, the driveway stretched for a good ten minutes off the highway, cutting through orchards and fields and finally over a calm looking river, where the house waited behind an tall, elaborate gate. It swung slowly open as Claire approached and she pulled into the carport, taking a moment to collect herself before she got out. Jocasta's invitation to tea came as a bit of a surprise to her—they didn't know each other overly well—but she supposed they saw one another often enough. Perhaps, though Jocasta had resided in the states for decades, she enjoyed the company of other expats, just as Claire did. 

The house itself wasn't as grand as some of the other historic homes she'd had the great pleasure to visit for this luncheon and that cocktail party—it was a plantation house, to be sure, the earth itself heavy with the dark history that such a plot always bore, but there was something almost charmingly modest about it in comparison. On the steps stood a girl no more than twenty who looked as though a slight breeze would knock her over, the smile she offered Claire not reaching her eyes. 

"H-hello," she stammered, her cheeks bright red with embarrassment. "You must b-be Claire?" 

"I am," Claire smiled warmly and went to extend her hand but the girl had already turned toward the door, leaving her no choice but to follow.

"Jocasta's in th-the sitting r-room," she said as she lead Claire through the house. Where the exterior was stately and rather plain, the interior was elegant but not nearly as simple, and it was clear from the dark brocade wallpapers to the decor that _this_ was where Jocasta spent her money. Claire had to admit, though it wasn't her style, the woman had good taste.

"Jocasta, your g-guest i-is here." 

"Thank ye, Mary. We'll take the tea now," Jocasta replied from her perch on a richly colored floral settee, beckoning her guest into the room. "Tis lovely tae see ye, Claire."

"Thank you for inviting me," Claire replied, crossing her ankles politely as she took up a spot across from Jocasta. Something about her surroundings, the gold-framed paintings and antiques that sat perfectly dusted on shelves and tables, demanded formality from their inhabitants, and Claire wasn't about to challenge that. "I was surprised you did, actually."

"Och, nonsense! We've got tae stick together on this side of the ocean," Jocasta replied sweetly as Mary entered, the tea service clattering quietly but consistently in her shaking hands. 

_Poor thing_ , Claire couldn't help but think as she set the tray on the table between them and poured Jocasta a cup.

"How d'ye take yer tea, dearie?" Jocasta asked, and Mary fixed it as instructed before handing a cup and saucer to her.

"Thank you, Mary," Claire said as the girl turned to go, sipping carefully so as not to burn her mouth. "Mmm, this is wonderful."

"Imported," Jocasta explained, looking off past Claire's shoulder as she reached carefully for her cup. "They dinna do it right here no matter where ye get it."

Claire chuckled, having made the discovery after several attempts, but wasn't quite sure where to steer the conversation after that.

"Tell me, Claire, how are ye finding the states? Well, I hope?"

"It's...it's nice. I've met some wonderful people. And the sunshine is actually quite nice, once you get used to it."

"Aye, it's all quite the adjustment at first, but it grew on me eventually. I hope it will for ye, too. And how is yer Frank wi' it all?"

"Oh, he's—doing well. He's very happy with his position at the museum," Claire answered, hoping she'd masked the disappointment in her voice well enough. Frank was far from her favorite subject of conversation, but it seemed he was always principal in any conversation. She resented that most didn't ask much about her or her career, but she'd stomached the antiquated culture for close to a year now. She could do it for another afternoon. 

"Wonderful, wonderful. And the two of ye? Are ye finding happiness together here?" 

There it was, that tonal peculiarity that Claire couldn't quite place, but it disquieted her nonetheless. She sometimes found Jocasta to be audaciously forward, in moments such as this, but supposed it was a byproduct of her career. It mustn't have been easy, running a massive company, working in a male dominated field and being disabled to top it all off.

"We are, yes. Very happy," Claire lied, injecting her voice with as much ingenuity as she could muster. 

"Really?" Jocasta asked, brows raised as she sipped her tea.

"Ehm, yes." Claire was growing more uncomfortable with each passing second, some odd sense of foreboding wrapping around her as Jocasta spoke. Her line of questioning was oddly specific, but meandering somehow; she felt as though she was being cornered and she didn't like it one bit.

"Strange, then, that ye've decided tae pick up wi' my nephew on the side, seeing as the two of ye are so happy together. I can't quite make sense of that."

Claire was grateful then that Jocasta couldn't see her saucer-like eyes, or the way her jaw dropped in shock. She started to stammer out a response but Jocasta cut her off, her voice warm and even as ever. 

"I lost my sight, many years ago, as I'm sure you've heard. Twas difficult, at first, as is any great change, but I've found it tae be a blessing—I am now gifted with hearing that would be the envy of many a gossip." She tipped her head almost conspiratorially, as though the two of them were in on some joke. Claire had never felt more outside of something in her life—Jocasta had her pinned like a dragonfly in a case, and she found herself powerless to do anything but listen, frozen in horror. "And the ability to scent truth from lies, if ye catch my meanin'," Jocasta continued, her voice sugary sweet. "So, as ye might imagine, I heard something quite...disturbing, shall we say, as I was leavin' yer wee birthday party last weekend."

Claire's stomach dropped like a rock. There were no two ways about this, no emergency exit, literally or figuratively, to slip out and avoid what was coming. They had been reckless, she knew that even in the moment, but that night _this_ had felt like an impossibility. The universe couldn't possibly be so cruel to them, but that naive belief, clouded as it was by love and desire and, she saw now, foolishness, was coming right back around to bite her in the arse.

"Quite frankly, I'd like tae know what the hell ye think yer doing."

"Jocasta, I'm not—I don't—" Claire stammered but Jocasta cut her off almost immediately.

"Truth from lies, dear Claire," she reminded in a patronizing, sing-songy voice, taking a casual sip of her tea as though she hadn't just ripped the ground out from beneath her guest's feet. "Dinna try it wi' me. Mary, dear!"

Claire tried to collect herself as she heard the girl shuffle in, brushing at her skirt and sitting up straighter, fussing with her curls—anything to keep her hands busy as they trembled. 

"Mary dear, tell me what our Claire looks like?"

_What the fuck kind of sick power play is this?_ Claire wondered as Mary leveled her with a nervous, almost apologetic gaze and began to categorize her appearance.

"W-w-well, she's got b-brown curls, d-d-dark brown curls, j-just above her sh-shoulders. They're nice, a-and nice sk-skin, too, white a-as milk. Long eyel-lashes, and y-yellowy brown eyes. She's—she's p-pretty. Do you w-w-want me to go o-on?"

"Thank ye dear, that will do."

Claire listened, the room dead silent save for the echo of Mary's footsteps growing farther and farther away. Though she suspected the girl would be anything but a good support, she wanted to reach for her, call her back to bear witness, just so she didn't have to be alone with Jocasta again. 

"Weel, I see why he likes ye, a pretty thing, and ye've a nice voice, melodic, but low for a woman. It fits ye, somehow. The Frasers are a romantic people, ye ken? Has he ever told ye the story of his parents meeting?"

He hadn't, but Claire didn't want to hear it. It would be easier, she thought, if Jocasta would stop winding her around in circles, lashing out and retreating into that sick sweetness she wielded like a sword.

"I asked ye a question, Claire."

"No," she answered quietly, like a scolded child.

"We were throwin' a holiday party, many years ago; invited everyone in town. Brian stole my sister's heart right out from under her that night. Our father was long dead by then, but we had brothers, ye ken, to mind his responsibilities. Ellen begged them but they wouldno' accept the match, so they eloped. A week after Christmas, snuck off in the dead of night without a word. Hid out in some dingy flat in Edinburgh until Ellen was just about tae give birth to sweet Willie, then she came home to be with me and our mother. Dougal and Colum were always cold to him, but I liked him quite a bit. And Ellen, my Ellen, she _loved_ him. And he her. Ye dinna see a love like that often—so ye can see how it planted lots of romantic ideas in Jamie's head, growin' up with parents so devoted to one another. And he deserves it, too, after the hand life has dealt him, no' a cheating harlot like yerself. He's to run this farm one day—what do ye think you'll do to his reputation? If ye leave yer Frank for him, as I'm sure he fantasizes ye will, no one would ever see him the same way. Jamie was born to be a _laird,_ the heart of his community—he'd never be able to achieve that, to fulfill what he's truly destined to do, and that'll fall squarely on yer shoulders, Claire. And if ye don't, if ye string him along as ye have been and then leave him when ye get bored, when some other puir man strikes yer fancy, it'll break his heart."

Claire's breathing was short and labored as Jocasta finally finished her peaceful tirade, her lip trembling as she spoke. 

"Jocasta, you don't understand. I care _deeply_ about your nephew, he's—I lo—"

"No ye don't," Jocasta cut through her response, sensing where she was going and not having it for a second. "Ye like that he pays attention to ye, ye like that he makes ye feel good. Yer selfish, Claire, and yer bringing down a good man with ye. Don't ye think Jamie has had _enough_ heartbreak for one lifetime? Ellen and Brian, Willie, Annelise, nearly losin' Nora when she was but a bairn—if ye truly cared a lick for him, ye'd never have set him up for another." 

"Please, Jocasta," Claire begged. She just wanted it to stop, she didn't want to hear all the ways she would— _already had_ —hurt Jamie, and everyone else around her. This was what she had feared, the thoughts that kept her awake late into the night, and now it was being lobbed at her as casually and obviously as if they were discussing the rising of the sun the next morning. But Jocasta, she learned quickly, was a woman of little mercy.

"And what about Frank?  That sweet, lovely man who threw ye a birthday party with all yer friends, and gave such an adoring toast to top it all off? I imagine he loves ye deeply, after all your years together. How do ye think he'd feel to know that the woman he loves is bedding the neighbor? Ye'd break his heart, too. And the girls?" That was the final stroke, the one that broke any resolve Claire had left to maintain her composure. She kept her weeping as soft as she could as Jocasta went on, but she knew it was for nothing. Ears of a gossip, after all—Jocasta could hear what she had done, and she seemed almost to enjoy it. "Those little ones who adore ye so?  They think ye hung the moon, Claire, talkin' about ye the way they do. What kind of a role model do ye think yer being for them, stepping out on yer husband to play house with them until ye get sick of it and abandon 'em? They've already lost their mother, and now they'll lose ye to. Their hearts will be hard by the time they can take their bikes around the block alone. Lord alive, in all my life I've _never_ met someone so deeply selfish. Thinking of nothing but what ye want, no regard for the lives ye ruin around ye."

When it was clear that Jocasta had finally concluded her monologue, Claire grasped the handle of her purse and stood on shaking legs, wiping at her cheeks just to clear space for the tears that were falling freely. 

"I should be going," she managed, sniffling as she turned and headed quickly for the door. 

"I agree. But make no mistake, Claire. This needs tae end. Ye have a choice here, the easy way or the hard way. Make it carefully."

Claire fled, shoes echoing through the dark hallways as she made her way to the front door. Mary met her there, looking worried, but Claire pushed past her and ran to the car, sobbing openly as she slammed the door behind her. She didn't bother with her seatbelt, just threw the vehicle into drive and peeled around the circular driveway. A voice in the back of her mind told her that it wasn't safe to be driving like this,  clouded as her vision was, but she had to be out of there, off of that horrible woman's land. 

She wept the whole drive home, her cries drowning out the hum of the car. Her heart was breaking, _actually breaking_ inside of her body, smashed into tiny, jagged pieces that could only be repaired by the one thing she could no longer have. As cruel as she was, Jocasta was right. About _everything._ Claire had spent the last few weeks living in a dream land, blinded  to any implications of her actions by how much she loved being with Jamie. But she couldn't truly love him like she thought she did, not if she allowed this to happen, to mar his image and corrupt his children and, worst of all, hurt him. They'd talked about Annelise, about his parents—she knew how rife with loss his life had been and yet she stuck herself happily into his world, content to take his time and his attention. But now she'd just be another in the long line of people who had left him. 

Frank's car wasn't in the garage when she arrived home, thankfully, and she stumbled to the guest room, fishing for her phone as she collapsed on the sleek couch. Jamie's name popped up when the screen lit and she couldn't stop herself from reading what he'd sent, heart shattering all over again.

_I loved waking up with you after our wee nap today, mo chride_ _❤️_

She sobbed harder, lungs convulsing as she fought for air. When she finally got the hyperventilating under control, light headed and curled around a throw pillow, she phoned Geillis, making her plea before her friend could even speak.

"Geillis, please come over, I need you." A shaking sob that she couldn't hold back. "The door is open, just—come inside when you get here. I'm upstairs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRY. For what it's worth, that absolutely sucked to write. Please please please stick with the story, I promise its nowhere near over. And a massive, MASSIVE thank you to my incredible beta, Janmarie/Statell, without whom I would have been far more lost than I was this week.


	16. Chapter 16

**T** he shaking, settled deep in her bones, finally alleviated itself just enough for Claire to lull herself to sleep. Though it was light and fitful, she was grateful to exist in that liminal, dreamless state for awhile. It allowed her freedom from the remembrance of Jocasta's chilling words and the awful, undeniable truth behind them. Her body, though, kept score even as her mind found respite, and she woke to the sounds of Geillis' shrill voice and little fists pounding at the door with the same acute ache in her very soul that almost had her crying out in pain.

"I'm coming," she managed, her voice hoarse from the strain of her sobs as she forced herself up off the couch. "I'm sorry, I forgot I locked the door."

Geillis hit her like a whirlwind, brushing her tearstained cheeks and petting her hair, then holding her at arms length, blabbering on the whole time.

"Christ, ye sounded awful on the phone, and ye look tae match it! What happened? Is someone dead, or do I have tae make it so?" 

Claire avoided her gaze until she couldn't any longer, peeking out from under her lashes to look at her friend, and though she tried to fight the feeling of the wind being knocked from her gut, and the way her lip trembled, she was crying again in an instant, collapsing against Geillis' willowy frame with the blind trust that she would be caught. Geillis wobbled but kept them upright, the lines between her brows deep and growing as she held her friend's shuddering frame.

"Shh, hen, nothin' can be sae bad as all this," she cooed softly, but that only seemed to make Claire cry harder, her hands fisting in the silk at Geillis back.

"It is," Claire sobbed, her stomach convulsing as she fought for a full inhale that she could never quite achieve.

"Christ. Alright, alright, let's get ye set down, come now." 

Geillis nudged Claire off her shoulder, one hand resting on her back to usher her toward the settee. Claire was back in her arms they second they sat, wetting her blouse with tears as she tucked herself against Geillis' shoulder and let out a broken, miserable sound. Gellis stroked her back, hoping to soothe whatever was raging inside her friend, and tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand so it didn't stick to her damp cheeks.

"What's happened?" Her voice was quiet but urgent, betraying only a touch of how worried she was. This was wildly uncharacteristic for the woman she knew, to be so out of control. And _nothing_ that Geillis could bring to mind, out of all the things the Brit had ever told her, would warrant such a reaction as this. "Is it Frank?" Claire shook her head. "The licensing exam?" Again. "Claire, I can keep guessin' at this all day, but it'll be much faster if ye tell me whats going. Please, I'm worried about ye."

Claire sucked in a heaving breath, willing the shaking to stop as she buried herself deeper in Geillis' embrace. She didn't know if she could look her in the eyes while she admitted the thoughtless, selfish acts that had brought her here. But the bubble had already been popped, Jocasta's razor-sharp tongue lashing out so that all the joy, all the hope she had found began to seep out, oozing between the jagged pieces of her heedless heart. Jamie's aunt had forced her to see herself as she truly was, and it wasn't a pretty picture.

"It's Jamie," she said finally, almost too quietly to be heard. 

She was met with silence, the straightening of Geillis' spine as she considered this information. It didn't require any clarification—those two simple words in fact confirmed a hunch that she'd been sitting on for a while now. Geillis prided herself on being perceptive, looking for the details in everything and everyone, and she fancied she picked up on some that, perhaps, others didn't. She'd known Jamie all her life, and the man was none to subtle with a crush. He'd talked about Mary McNab every day, without fail, from second to fourth grade, wide eyed when he watched her go by in the hallways, so distracted when she was near that he forgot nearly everything else. Though he had developed a little more finesse in adulthood, when he had it bad for someone, the lass was the only person in any room. The glances between them, when she did catch them, were not lost on Geillis, nor was the all too noticeable change that had struck her dear Claire. It didn't take much to put two and two together, though she'd figured it was just a crush, some harmless flirtation. That, however, couldn't justify a reaction such as this. Claire was beside herself, though she'd now managed to sit up on her own as the crying subsided.

"I didn't tell you, I'm sorry. I didn't tell anyone, it just—happened," she whimpered, hugging her knees to her chest and daring a glance at Geillis.

"Dinna say another word, I'm goin' tae the liquor cabinet," Geillis interjected, giving Claire's hand a quick squeeze before she rose. 

"Anything but whiskey, please," Claire called after her. Too much Jamie there. Would this be the rest of her life? Sidewinding and stepping over grenades to avoid the remembrance of the purest, truest love she had ever experienced? Even more importantly, could she bear to live like that? Heavy with the knowledge of what she once had, of what was possible and right there and no longer hers for the taking; it felt as though half of herself had been ripped away that afternoon, set aside just out of reach, and she had no choice but to go on living in the outsized shell that remained. 

Her phone pinged again, muffled between the couch cushions. Everything in her said not to look for it, that nothing she'd find there could possibly make her feel any better, but she fished it out nonetheless, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright screen. It was just Frank, the man who's mere existence had once made her sing and had now, inadvertently, taken from her the best thing she had ever known, announcing he'd be home late as if she hadn't come to expect it. Worse yet was Jamie's name, just below, though the text itself didn't display on her lock screen. 

_Jamie Fraser._

_Claire Fraser._

_Mr. and Mrs. Fraser._

_The Frasers._

_Claire and Jamie._

_J_ _amie and Claire._

Just as she began to spiral again, surprised to find that she still had tears left in her body, Geillis reappeared with a bottle of gin in one hand and a tonic water in the other, and she did her best to wipe them away. With a smile that was both empathetic and a little sad, she plopped down beside Claire and handed her the bottle, a knowing look in her eye.

"Oh, hen," she sighed as Claire took a long pull from the bottle and handed it back, hissing as the alcohol burned its passage down to her stomach. She was grateful for the mild distraction, for any sensation that wasn't the wrenching in her gut. Geillis followed suit, then poured them each a glass and settled against the back of the couch, reaching for Claire's hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Start from the beginning, it canna be as bad as all this."

"We—I didn't—it just happened," Claire repeated helplessly, searching for the right words to put to it. There weren't enough, not in English, or French, nor even in Gaelic—none strong enough to convey the soul deep truth she'd found in him. Or the gut wrenching heartbreak she had little choice but to inflict. "I never—" she sighed, muscles tight as she fought against the shaking that threatened to bring her back down to a mess of sobs. "I never meant to hurt him, or anyone, I just—"

"Were ye together?" Geillis asked, though not for the sake of drama or gossip. It was apparent that whatever story her friend harbored, it was one of heartbreak. She didn't want to hear it much more than it appeared Claire wanted to tell it, but it seemed the only way forward.

Claire looked off, curled in on herself as she clutched the cool glass to her chest. Eventually she nodded, just enough that Geillis could see it, and uttered a soft, "We were, for a few weeks. We were...well, sneaking around is what we were," she admitted, a bitter bite to her voice. "I should never have—" a shuddering breath, not quite a sigh or a sob, cut her off, and she took a careful sip of her drink. 

"Jesters do often prove tae be prophets," Geillis teased, a failed attempt to lighten the mood that only had her concern growing. "Ye love him, don't ye?" 

" _So much_ ," Claire whimpered, her lips pursed tight as she tried to keep from crying while it all came tumbling out. "We kissed at his housewarming, after everyone had gone and the girls were in bed and it was...I went back the next night to apologize but I couldn't—we ended up—and I knew it was wrong, Geillis, I _knew_ it was and I swore up and down I'd never do it again but he just—I couldn't stop thinking about him, and he was sweet and thoughtful and _flirty_ and—I told myself I'd stop when Frank got back from Georgia but—oh God! He brought me this bouquet, before anything even happened, when I fixed up Nora's forehead and it was _beautiful_ , and all the flowers, they were...they were everything, everything he'd felt about me and he didn't think I'd know and I didn't know if he meant any of it, but then I asked him and he _did_ and I—I couldn't stop myself, I missed him all the time, wanted to _be_ with him all the time—with them...I didn't mean to, it just— _happened_ , like it was this divine thing that neither of us could control..."

Geillis held off when Claire stopped speaking, to give her space to feel, and think, and process—she didn't want to cut her off if there was more there. And she herself needed a moment to process her friend's rambling account of what had happened. Though her powers hadn't failed her entirely, she had no idea it ran this deep; Claire was well and truly wrecked by whatever turn of events had befallen them. 

"What's got ye so upset then?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer. "Did Frank...find out?"

"No, no...Jocasta did."

"She—how?" She could see Claire beginning to cave in on herself once more, curling around the hurt inside as if by not sharing it she could somehow protect herself, and scooted so that they were side to side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "A burden shared is a burden halved, dear."

"At the birthday party," Claire murmured after a long moment. Though the bruises had faded almost to obscurity, she felt them immediately, scalding as she recalled with shame and yearning and regret and still, a touch of excitement, the act that had left them. That heated, merciless moment when she had been so completely his that she was lost to everything else. Lost enough to be careless, irresponsible and selfish. Just as she had been since the beginning, from that very first night, when she'd tasted his lips and felt the power radiating from within him as he held her. Drunk on him and completely heedless of all the hurt was bound to inflict. She'd willfully ignored the truth of it all, merely for the sake of her own desires, that it was always going to end like this. "We—I thought we were being quiet, I didn't think there was anybody in the house but she...she had me to tea today and I didn't know that she knew anything, and she was...she was _awful_ Geillis." She shuddered at the thought of everything Jocasta had said to her, sniffling as she added, "But she was right. It was— _I_ was selfish. It's all my fault, about everything, and now..."

"It sounds tae me that he wanted ye just as much," Geillis offered gently, her hand running up and down Claire's arm. "If there's blame tae be laid for two people findin' happiness, I hardly think its yours alone."

"It is," Claire assured her miserably, sipping at the last of her drink and holding it out. Geillis obliged, draining the rest of her own and sitting forward to tend to the refills. "I'm the married one, I'm... _older_...I...had a responsibility, if I ever really _did_ love him, or even care about him, not to hurt him, or the girls. And I never wanted to, it was the last thing I would _ever_ want to do, and it's...it's exactly what I did."

"If ye dinna mind me askin', Claire, what exactly did ye do to hurt them?"

"I let it start, for one. And now I have to end it."

"Why?"

"It's—I'm not...it's just a mess any way you go about it. If I did stay, if I left Frank for him, people would put two and two together and they'd never look at him the same way; his reputation would be ruined. And the girls would find out the truth at some point. What if the other kids teased them about it? What kind of a role model would I be to them? Their father's second whore wife? I—I can't do that to them. And if I tell him it's over...I think it'll break his heart. I know it'll break mine. But then, with time, he'll—he'll heal, he'll move on and find someone who can give him everything he deserves. Who deserves a man like him."

_I certainly don't._

The mere thought of Jamie moving on was so injurious it made her physically sick, as if her stomach was folding in on itself. She hated the idea that his lips would ever touch another woman's, hated thinking of someone else wearing her golden fairy wings, brushing the tangles out of Fiona and Nora's curls and singing them to sleep, waking up in Jamie's arms. But she could picture it, clear as day in her minds eye: the two of them cleaning up the kitchen after a long day, quiet and happy just to _be_ together, wrapped in the comfort of a love without hindrances. Jamie watching with awe and joy as she grew round with his child, again and again until they had a little gaggle of them, borne of their love, their bodies. All the things she wanted so badly to give him, to share only with him. Jamie would move on, of course he would. Given enough time, he would probably forget all about her, content in the life he would build with someone else. Someone _better._ She wouldn't, she knew that. That amount of time didn't exist. But that was her cross to bear, not his. The memory of him, of _them_ , of the kind of connection she could only have imagined, would have to be enough to see her through.

"I still don't see why ye think ye have tae end it, people—"

"Please don't," Claire implored. "I don't need convincing right now."

"I just think ye might take some time tae think about it before ye do anythin' foolhardy, that's all."

"I already kissed him, slept with him, and fell in love with him, I think I've covered foolhardy." Claire laughed but there was barely any humor there, and laid her head on Geillis' shoulder. "Thank you for coming, I really didn't want to be alone after Jocasta."

"Weel ye sounded like someone had died on the phone, I hardly had a choice!"

"There you are." The corner of her lips twitched, just slightly, but it was there, and Geillis was grateful. Claire hadn't smiled since her arrival. "You were being so...gentle I was almost worried about you."

"Ye had me right worried about _you_ ," Geillis retorted, squeezing Claire's shoulder as they broke apart. "Whatever ye decide the right thing is, I support ye."

"Thank you, G," Claire said, fixing her with a meaningful look. "You're a good friend. Now, as my friend, will you please get me sloshed and distract me?"

Geillis laughed, taking the bottle by the neck and holding it in front of her. 

"As ye wish, m'lady. You're going tae be just fine."

Claire knew that she wouldn't be _just fine_ , she'd likely never be quite _fine_ again, but she could drown out that reality with gin and easy comedies for one evening.

**S** he woke the next morning to find a glass of water, three acetaminophen tablets and pale pink sticky note on her bedside table. Grateful for her friend's foresight and care, she swallowed the pills and drained the glass, then turned her attention to the note. _You deserve to be happy_ , it read, with a heart scrawled below. She groaned, rolled over, and buried her face in the pillows, hoping to fall back asleep and forget her waking nightmare for just a little while. But her mind had started spinning the moment she'd woken and it became clear quickly that more sleep would elude her. Sitting up, she gave the note another solemn look. It was a lie—a kind one, but a lie none the less. Jamie deserved to be happy, and that's why she was going to break his heart in the gentlest way she could manage.

With Frank on a one day business trip to visit some something somewhere, she had the whole day to herself to hide out in the house and steel herself for what was to come. It had to be tonight, as much as she dreaded it, after the girls had gone to bed. When she often came to him, but this time it would be so different. She thought briefly that she ought to warn him, but as she began to thumb out a few different versions of the text, she realized she'd either have to omit the truth of her her visit entirely, leaving him looking forward to the kind of evening that couldn't ever exist between them again, or tell him she needed to talk to him and have him stuck in anticipation all day. Perhaps that itself was selfish, believing she had such a sway over him as to effect the entirety of his day, but she decided not to text him nonetheless. 

In looking at the bottom of their message thread, though, her eye was drawn to two particular words. _Mo cridhe._ He'd been calling her that for some time. Not quite since the beginning, but ducked the question each time she queried after its meaning. Against her better judgement, she typed the phrase into Google and immediately regretted the decision.

_My heart._

Things would have been easier, had she not known that particular detail, but she never be able to wipe it from her memory.

_My heart._

He'd called her that, for what she now knew to be the last time, when he roused her from their nap the last time they'd lain together. Her heart twisted in her chest as she thought about that day, her 38th birthday, the happiest she could remember in years. She would have given anything to go back, armed with the knowledge that it would be their last time. She would have savored him so much more, taken him on her back, face to face, thighs pressed into the bed, memorizing the blissful stretch of him inside her. She would have forced her eyes open, even as the pleasure of their flesh together dragged her under, to study the details of him; the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin as he moved over her, the curl and snarl of his lips when he was close, the quirk of his brows when he finally found his pleasure in her, the way he kissed her just after, open mouthed, tongues engaged in a deep, lazy battle. If she had known she would never have him again, she wouldn't have allowed herself to sleep, to waste twenty precious minutes with him. She would have pressed herself tighter into his arms,` to imprint his body on hers, so that she could conjure him, on desperate, lonely nights when the grief was too much, when she missed him so badly it threatened to break her. She wouldn't have all the details she wanted, to carry her through those nights she knew would come, but she would have to make do. She couldn't well make love to him again now, knowing what she had to do. The right thing to do would be to keep things clean and simple, like a medical procedure. And so, she set about determining the cleanest, simplest way to break the heart of the best man she'd ever known. 

**J** amie rose immediately when he heard the knock at his back door, knowing that what awaited him on the other side of the glass was joy itself. 

_His joy._

_His Sorcha._

He had thought he wanted her, that first time he set eyes on his neighbor, but that all paled in comparison to the ache he felt for her now. For she had shown him her heart, in what way she could, and he knew now with certainty that it matched his own, beating as it did for her. Her words— _I'm yours, I meant what I said_ —were a promise, from her soul to his, that they would find a way forward, together. He could almost feel the _I love you_ echoing there, in the space between. They had waited, those simple, earth shattering words, on the tip of his tongue for so many weeks. Sometimes, when he was certain she was asleep, he would whisper them aloud, his heart tight in his chest as he gave himself away, piece by piece, to the woman he knew would hold him in gentle hands. 

In the wake of Annelise's death, he had not thought to love again. Not like that. That magical, intangible thing he had seen between his parents and sought so desperately for himself, had been his, for a time, and wrenched from his grasp long before he was ready. God did not give such things twice. But she had left him the two most precious gifts he had ever known; two tiny girls, who looked at him with big saucer eyes as if he held the key to the universe. His duty would be to them and he could not regret that. 

And then there Claire, like the sun itself on a cloudy day.

Claire, with her bonnie curls and skin like alabaster, dutifully tending her wee garden. Claire, a little worse for wear for her years just as he was, with small, gentle hands that healed both bodies and souls. Claire, opening her heart to his children as if she had been waiting _just_ for them. He hadn't known it, but he had been waiting too, _just_ for her.

It was so different than it had been with Annelise. Not better or worse, but deeper somehow. They came together in the way that only those who had weathered life's storms before could, their hearts cautious, asking;

_Can I trust you?_

_Will you let me see you?_

_Will you see me?_

_Will you still want me when you do?_

Sometimes they answered in words, but more often than not their bodies spoke for them, giving assurances and promises where words failed. Even when their bodies were impatient and frenzied, the love they shared was bestowed carefully and conscientiously, by choice. He needed her, he could not deny that, but above all he _chose_ her; even in the face of uncertainty, he would do it a thousand times over.

"Sassenach, I wasna expectin' tae see ye tonight or I would ha' shaved," he said with a wink as she brushed past him into the house.

Claire knew her resolve would slip the second she saw him, she had been planning carefully for it, but everything about him was like a punch to the gut. _I like it when you don't,_ she wanted to say, wanted to run the back of her knuckles over his stubbled jaw and press her lips there. _I like the way it feels against my skin, I like the way it makes you look, I like the way you look all the time, I like that you're kind and thoughtful, I like watching you be a father, I like hearing about your day, I like you and I love you and I want you and I need you a_ _nd I can't have you and this already feels like ripping my own heart out of my body and please don't let me do this._

"Sassenach?" he asked, his voice dropping from flirtatious to gravely serious the moment she turned to face him. "Claire, what's amiss?"

Her eyes, still a little puffy from the tears she'd shed before she left the house, met his and she looked away quickly, to the wall beyond his head. She cursed her glass face, her selfish heart, and dug her teeth into the inside of her bottom lip to keep from crying. Clean and simple, like an incision. It had to be. The shaking, clenching feeling in her gut had already set in—it hadn't stopped since Jocasta's sitting room, not really—but she contained it there, for now, standing firm. 

"Claire, ye look like I could knock ye over wi' a feather. Yer worryin' me, _please_ say somethin'," Jamie pleaded, starting towards her. But she flinched away from his touch. She had never done that before. All of a sudden he was at war within himself, knowing what was about to happen and not believing that it could possibly be so.

"I can't do this anymore," she uttered, voice threatening to break as she clutched her wrap so hard her knuckles turned white. "I'm sorry."

Silence stretched between them, long and heavy. She wouldn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the floor beside his feet. 

"Why?" he asked, swallowing hard against the rising constriction in his throat.

"It's just—it's not right, I should never have...I have to do the right thing." Claire murmured, taking a shaky breath before she let her eyes flick up to meet his, just for a second before she hid herself again. "I'm sorry, Jamie."

_Stop me, please, please stop me,_ she begged silently. He looked so stricken when she had dared a glance at him, just as broken hearted as she, and she wished she had never looked. She deserved it, though, to see in the face she so loved exactly what she had done. Every cell in her body cried out to her to go to him, to comfort them both in the only embrace that could possibly erase the torment raging inside, but she held fast with her eyes down. She wouldn't make this any harder than it had to be.

Jamie stared at her, confusion and grief etched across his face. If she would just look at him for longer than a millisecond, he could convince her that the right thing was this, the two of them, no matter how messy the uphill climb might be. He wanted to plead, wanted to fall to his knees and crawl to her, take her hands in his and beg her not to leave him. He would tell her everything, in words; that he needed her, that he loved her, that he would love her for the rest of his life. That she was better than the best thing he had ever imagined, even when he was a boy dreaming of princess and fairies, that she was more wonderful than them all. His heart was heavier than he'd ever felt it, teeming with the need to tell her that she had made him whole again in a way that he had carefully taught himself to neither expect or desire, that she'd broken down his every wall and wrapped herself around his heart and he couldn't watch her go.

But he didn't. 

He loved her from the depths of his soul, but even more than that, he respected her and that was more important to him even than his own need. She schooled herself carefully, but he had come to know the particularities of her glass face like the back of his own hand; he could see that this was just as heart wrenching for her as it was for him. If she needed to go, for whatever reason, he wouldn't make it more difficult for her than it needed to be.

"What about the girls?" he asked quietly. He could see her in his mind, pinked and beaming as she had been on Sunday, not even a week ago—she had still been his then—dancing through the yard with them, adorned with golden fairy wings. For his own selfish sake, he almost hoped she would go, and leave him alone with the memories. It would be easier that way, to stitch himself back together and resurrect the walls she had so easily felled, to write her and them and romantic love into a little book with binding the color of her blushing cheeks, and place it high on a shelf in his heart. He would keep her there, in that secret place that could only be reached on tiptoe, only to be read by candlelight, when the loneliness threatened to overtake him. He had done it once; logic would reason that he could do it again. But Fiona and Nora, his sweet, sweet daughters, were so little and already they had lost far too much. They wouldn't understand what was happening, where their very favorite person had gone; they would perhaps be even more heartbroken than he. He could bear pain himself, but not theirs. "Will ye—will ye still come see them? I dinna think they could bear tae lose ye." Jamie could barely choke out the last words, tears threatening to spill over at any second. He was not a man ashamed of his own emotions, nor afraid of expressing them, but he didn't want to break down completely in front of Claire. It would only cause her more hurt. 

"I—of course I will, if you'll let me," she answered, grateful for the unexpected question, the grace therein. "I _love_ your daughters, Jamie." _And you, always, irrevocably._ "I wouldn't ever want to hurt them."

"They love ye, Fairy Clairey," he replied softly, offering her a sorrowful smile that was like a knife to her belly. "I—I ken I'm in no position tae ask anythin' of ye, but for their sake, I think the less that changes, the better. Everything here is still so new to them, and they've already..." _Lost one mother._ "I'll make myself scarce, when yer here, of course. I dinna want ye tae be uncomfortable."

"You're a magnificent father, Jamie. Thank you, for letting me be a part of their lives." 

"Thank ye for bein' what ye are, tae them," he answered, the tightness in his belly to keep himself from crying burrowing so deep it pained him. Claire could see it in his eyes, red and watery as they were, and she knew the best thing she could do for him was go. Forcing her feet to start toward the door was perhaps the hardest thing she'd ever done, each step increasing the space between them until she stood in front of the sliding glass door. She may has well have been on the other side of a canyon. 

She turned back to him before she could think better of it, blinking back tears, and choked out, "I need you to know...that I don't regret a _second_ of it."

He looked as though she'd wound up and hit him, his body tightly reigned even as he began to shake, just enough that she could see it from where she stood. When he didn't say anything, she turned back and stepped onto the deck, carefully avoiding his gaze as she shut the door behind herself and fled. 

**U** nable to help himself, Jamie watched her through the window, tiny fingerprints occasionally smudging her retreating form. Even like that, walking away from him with his heart trailing hopelessly behind, she looked beautiful. Every piece of him ached to follow her, to catch her by the hand before she disappeared into her darkened house and pull her to him. If only he could wrap her in his arms, remind her in the effortless language of their bodies how well they fit together, she wouldn't be able to leave him. She _couldn't._ But he held himself steady, braced with a hand on the counter, and watched her open the back door to the house. This was what she wanted. He didn't understand why, not for a second, but it was his duty to do right by the woman he loved, even if that meant losing her.

With her curls tucked behind her ear, he could see the wetness glistening on her cheek just before she disappeared and his resolve cracked enough to bring him to the back door of his home, hand shaking as he reached for the pull. It wasn't until he forced his hand away that he began to weep, choking back the sobs as quietly as he could so as not to risk waking the girls. He wanted so badly to go to her, to pound on the door or throw rocks at her window or call til she picked up. The desire went well beyond his anatomy, the bones that stacked to hold him up and the muscles that could move them in pursuit of her, into his soul itself, the very center of who he was. It had called for her the first time he saw her and it called to her now, after everything, still just as certain that she was the one for him. 

When the wracking sobs had finally quieted, he went numbly through his nightly routine of closing up the house, checking the doors and windows, turning off the lights, wishing with every breath that she was waiting for him upstairs, hair up and glasses on and his. He had spent so many hours daydreaming about what his life would look like with her firmly planted in it, free from limitations and secrecy; and believed them to be possible, that someday the woman he loved _would_ be there waiting for him, tucked beneath the linens of _their_ bed, ready to soothe away any lingering discomfort from the day with her gentle voice and the soft press of her lips. That just by wanting her the way he did he could will it to be so and make her his in every last way.

He thought back to the moment they had shared on Sunday, free from little ones, the way she had looked at him when she told him she had meant what she said, that she was his. He could see the truth of it, shining in her amber eyes; what had changed? She'd given him little by way of explanation. It wouldn't have helped, wouldn't have lessened the clenching, biting ache in his chest, but it would have been something. 

Trapped in a waking nightmare, he found himself creeping into the girl's bedroom, avoiding the floorboards with a tendency to creak as he made his way to sit between their beds. 

"I'm sorry, lasses," he whispered, muscling down another sob as he rested a hand on each of their backs. "I thought I'd found ye a Mam, I really did. She'd have been a good one tae ye, too. She already is, in lots of ways, and Christ, I love her so much it hurts. But dinna fash, she'll no leave ye. She loves both of ye verra, verra much. Claire's no' goin' tae leave ye." 

It was a comfort to himself, really, not to his sleeping daughters, that she wasn't abandoning the two of them. God willing, they wouldn't even know anything had changed. They'd always have their friend Claire, even if it meant he had to be near her without losing his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Breathes* IMSORRYAGAINIMSORRYAGAINIMSORRYAGAINIMSORRYAGAINIMSORRYAGAIN.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drumroll please—here it is, finally! I know this one was long awaited. Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement while I wrote, each and every comment and message made my day. It's odd to think that I have readers, but I've got some damn good ones. Your support means the world to me and I can't wait to hear what you think about where the story is going. Much love!

**I** t was the end of the month before Frank said anything. Over a week of sleepless nights spent on a tear stained pillowcase, alone in the guest room that was looking more and more like it belonged to her, willing herself to conjure up the feeling of Jamie curled around her no matter how much it hurt in hope of finding sleep if even just for a moment. The remembrance didn't fail her—the soft touch of his fingertips as he brushed the curls from her neck to press himself closer, the puff of his breath against the skin revealed there and the weight of his arm draped across her waist, ending in a large hand cupping her breast were all too easy to recall—but sleep eluded her entirely. Each time she finally settled into the arms of her ghost, it would dawn on her that that's all he would be to her, from now on into eternity: a ghost. There were no new memories to be made; what she had of him now was all she would ever possess. She had been foolish and self-serving to believe that she could ever truly have him the way she wanted, but it didn't lessen the ache that sewed itself into her soul, heavy and caliginous. 

When she did manage to reign in her grief, it was only to throw herself into her studies. Though she was in little danger of making poor marks on her licensing exam in the first place, the dogged obsession with which she now approached her medical books, procedure reviews and old notes ensured little less than perfection. There was an almost manic quality to the way she worked; fueled seemingly by willpower alone, she spent her waking hours closed away in her office with her materials, scrawling notes and diagrams in a leather-bound journal embossed with a floral design and her initials in the middle. Jamie had presented it to her without flourish, in a simple brown bag with cream colored tissue paper puffing out from the top, after she'd told him about the exam, and despite the pang in her chest when she pulled it from her desk drawer each morning, she couldn't bear to let it go. Claire told herself it would be a waste of valuable time to copy the notes she'd already taken into a new notebook, but even she knew that was a shoddy excuse. 

For the most part, she avoided the mirror, knowing that she would not like what she saw, physically or otherwise. On the occasion that she did chance a look, she was met with a hollow version of herself, all pallor and bone. She was gaunt—though not as gaunt as she would have been without Geillis. Though Frank seemed content to leave her to herself, Geillis, unsurprisingly, took the opposite approach. She'd called her as soon as she could find words after leaving Jamie's house that awful night, but given the lateness of the hour she'd insisted that she would do well enough for the night, and Geillis could come by the next day. Which she did, and the next, and the next after that when it became obvious that Claire wasn't liable to take any kind of care of herself without a watchful eye. 

"I _really_ don't want anything," she'd insist when Geillis dragged her down to the kitchen, but her complaints fell on deaf ears each time. Though she was reluctant to admit it, she was grateful that her friend had stepped in, and in the exact way she needed her. She'd never seen Geillis quite like this, devoid of her dramatic flair and her tendency toward prodding questions. She had broached the subject of Jamie just a couple of times in the beginning, but Claire made it quite clear that she wasn't going to go there. Even though Geillis harbored her own opinions about the situation—namely, that her friend had made a massive mistake—she stopped asking. Claire would talk if or when she was ready, and she'd be there to hear it. Their visits were mostly quiet, with short exchanges about how she slept (poorly, if at all), if she'd eaten (usually not) and what she'd been doing (studying, or playing with the girls, or crying) fading into comfortable but heavy silence as Geillis fixed her a plate and sat with her to make sure she ate at least a few bites. 

When Claire hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in four nights, Geillis arrived with a little orange pill bottle.

"It's Ambien, it's no' that bad. I ken ye dinna want tae hear this and ye dinna strike me as the type tae run tae pills at the first sign of trouble, but ye need tae get some rest, hen. Ye canna go and go for days like this, it's no' healthy," she said gently, placing the bottle unobtrusively between them on the countertop. "Just for a few nights, tae get ye back in rhythm. I only gave ye ten; I think it'll help."

Too exhausted to put up a fight, Claire accepted the bottle and took it up to her bathroom, where it sat out of sight but very much present in her mind until that evening. It seemed a straightforward enough action—put the pill in your mouth, swallow with water, and fall into eight easy, restful hours of sleep. But Claire knew it wasn't quite so simple as that. Having worked in the medical profession, where it was easy enough to get your hands on pills if one really tried, she was well aware of the dangers, and though she'd always been a perfectly normal drinker and had barely experimented with drugs, benzodiazepines could be a slippery slope, and she was likely at higher risk now, in the midst of emotional trauma, of things going sour. 

Perhaps if she had only herself to worry about, the choice would have been easier, or different. Perhaps she would have allowed herself the effortless rest that the little salmon colored pill promised, consequences be damned. But even if she couldn't have Jamie, there were still two little girls that she felt very much responsible to. It was important to both her and Jamie that what happened between them didn't effect his daughters; and, selfishly as usual, they were all the light she had left in the world. Medicine would distract her, of course, give her something of a purpose, but it wouldn't ever fill the empty space completely. Neither would Fiona and Nora, and she wouldn't dare put that responsibility on their little shoulders, but she couldn't deny that being with them was the closest thing she had to happiness. If she ever hurt them, living with herself would be impossible. 

The bottle clanged, loud and metallic, against the wastebasket when she threw it out. The home brewed valerian root tea waiting on her nightstand would have to suffice. 

Coincidentally, the girls were also the only reason she knew that Halloween was fast approaching. As the day grew closer and they talked constantly about their costumes—though neither of them could seem to decide on one, and Claire had noticed numerous packages from toy and costume companies waiting on their porch—she knew she couldn't well pretend it wasn't happening. Hers would be the first house they stopped at, and she couldn't well meet them costume-less and without candy in an undecorated house. Still, it wasn't until the morning of that she finally found the energy to drag herself to the store for supplies. She hadn't heard Frank moving around in a while, and figured he was out somewhere, so the surprise of finding him in the kitchen was considerable. Being that they no longer shared a bed, it wasn't uncommon for them to go days without seeing each other, and she found it was actually quite a relief. 

"Claire, you look..."

_Awful? Anemic? Like I haven't slept in days?_

She didn't say anything, only braced herself silently for whatever was to come as she continued toward the fridge to fill up a water bottle.

"I'm worried about you, Claire. I'd like to talk to you? If that's...I think we should talk. Why haven't you...?"

He trailed off, just as uncomfortable as she was, but Claire knew well enough what he wanted to say. Of course that was the first thing he would ask; above everything else, his chief concern was her neglect of her wifely duties.

_Come back to bed._ She'd heard him say it so many times before, but then it had always been sweet, a welcome offer to finally put the day away and find solace with her partner. But Frank was no longer her partner—he hadn't been for some time if she were honest—and he didn't even have to say it aloud for the suggestion to seem demeaning and demanding. 

Her instinct was to respond unkindly, to be short and unreasonable with him, but she knew that all she really wanted was to avoid an inevitable and uncomfortable conversation. Though things had changed with Jamie, they had not with Frank. If anything, leaving Jamie had solidified for her the fact that her marriage was over. She would rather be alone than remain _Mrs. Randall_. Still, she had to tread carefully and play her cards right—if she didn't, if he wanted an immediate divorce, she'd be deported. She wouldn't have cared if it weren't for Fiona and Nora, but all she had left to cling to now was doing right by them, and disappearing back across the ocean did not fall into that category. So she swallowed the vitriol and braced herself on the countertop.

"I need time to think, Frank," she answered, honestly enough. She didn't need to think, but she did need time. "I'm not...happy."

"Well that much I can tell. I suppose I— _offended_ you, after the birthday party. Is that what all this is about? Because I'm sorry, if it is. I wouldn't have said a thing if I knew it would throw you into such a tailspin."

_Oh,_ how she yearned for the crack of her palm against his cheek. She'd never hit him—and never planned on it—but she imagined it would be terribly satisfying in this moment. Well deserved, too. But again, she reigned herself in with a steadying breath.

_This can't go poorly._

"You're sorry _if_ that's what's causing all this, not because you hurt my feelings." She didn't realize she'd said it out loud until she saw how her words affected him. He couldn't deny the truth of it, and the tinge of sad understanding _almost_ made her feel better. She suspected she wasn't the only broken person here—in all likelihood, Frank didn't want to hurt her just as she didn't want hurt him. Unfortunately, it seemed unavoidable. "I'm going to stay in the guest room, at least for a while. Just until I get my bearings, and then we can...move forward from there."

"Claire, you can't—I'm your husband, we're supposed to work these things out _together_ and now you're just—just going to _abandon_ me because of one silly comment?"

"It wasn't silly, Frank, it hurt my feelings and it made me sad. It feels as if you don't care all too much about that, though. You care about what I can _do_ for you, how my presence serves your image."

"I'm sorry that you feel that way but that's no excuse for _this_. You are my wife and I won't simply allow you to—"

Her nostrils flared as she fought to keep control of herself. That's really all she was to Frank anymore; his _wife._ Not a human being, not a doctor, not even a woman. Just _Mrs. Randall,_ to do with as he pleased. 

"You don't need to _allow_ me to do anything, Frank—and that frame of mind is precisely what I'm talking about."

"Christ, I didn't mean it like _that_ , I'm sorry," Frank conceded as he rounded the counter towards her looking so anguished it struck Claire as performative. "But Claire, you can't—we don't need all this pomp and circumstance about it. We can work on things, now, _together._ Just—come back to our bed, we can figure this all out."

Claire held up a hand before he could embrace her, though her feet remained planted where she stood. The though of him touching her turned her stomach. A part of her, small as it was, wished that she still wanted him, that sex could bridge them back together as it once did. But it was the same part that paled at the thought of spending the next forty or fifty years alone. That was a long time to come home to an empty house, to go without being touched or kissed or cared for _._ It scared her. But it was a long time to live a lie, too. Though Frank was flawed, and certainly hadn't been all too good to her lately, he wasn't a bad _person._ He didn't deserve to live that lie by her side. 

Given his reaction though, it seemed Claire would have to utilize her wiles more than she was hoping to in order for this to go smoothly. She wasn't particularly keen on dangling reputation over his head to get what she wanted, but it _was_ a near guarantee.

"Frank," she began, drawing herself tall as she could, "I don't want there to be any big to-do about this. I don't think you do either." She paused and fixed him with a raised brow, giving him a moment to recognize what she was implying, before she spoke again. He looked a little like a prey animal realizing it was cornered. Where humanity didn't work with him, societal standing certainly did. "Am I correct?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and nodded, though he looked as though he was harboring similar fantasies about how his hand might feel across her cheek. She almost hoped he would do it. 

"Good. This doesn't have to some...earth shattering _thing_. If there are events that absolutely _require_ my attendance, I will go, and I won't make a fuss. I hope you will give me the same courtesy. Does that sound agreeable to you? For now?" 

A little paler than when they'd started, Frank nodded curtly and turned on his heel. She heard his car keys jingling and then the slam of the front door. 

**W** here Claire's state went largely ignored by her husband, however, Jamie could scarcely think of anything else. His daughters tethered him firmly in reality and kept him moving forward and he was grateful to them for it, but Claire occupied his mind constantly. They carefully circumvented each other while she played with the girls, but even seeing her in passing made him ache. Her eyes, once like whiskey in crystal with the sun shining through from behind, were devoid of that light—when he watched her through the window, heavy hearted, as she played with Fiona and Nora, it was never _quite_ the same. She was angular now, with purplish bags beneath her eyes that grew darker as the days passed. Even with blush and concealer, applied (he suspected) so the girls wouldn't notice the changes in her, Jamie was never fooled. He couldn't help but wonder if she, too, laid awake in the dead of night, playing over the moments they had shared in her minds eye. But if that was so, if she was plagued by the same sleepless, heartbroken nights as he, then why did she leave? He walked through their relationship, from the first time he set eyes on his enchanting curly headed neighbor to the night she fled his house in tears with his heart trailing behind, but he could never make sense of it. Just days before, standing together in his yard, it finally felt as though they were building toward the same thing, toward being _truly_ together, and then this? 

In his darker moments, he questioned wether she ever really cared for him, if what they shared was real. Maybe he had been adoringly blinded to what was really happening, and she was merely housewife curing her boredom and discarding the object of her interest once she'd had enough. But even if she'd never said it, he could _feel_ the love emanating between them when they touched, when she flashed him those secret, coy smiles across parties and yards, and the weight of her _I'm yours_. It couldn't possibly have been a lie, or a fabrication, or anything of the sort. Claire had been walking alongside him the whole time, and even though she had been the catalyst, it was clear that she was just as heartbroken by their parting as he was. 

Above all else, all the questions and the hurt he harbored, he was concerned for her. He wanted to see her shine again, wanted her happy even if he no longer got to be part of the cause—although, over the course of his sleepless nights, he had developed quite the fantasy of exactly how he would soothe the pain that had grown roots in her soul. He'd cook her something hearty and shelter her in his arms on the leather sofa where they'd first come together, stroke her curls and spoon feed her until she didn't look quite so withered. He'd whisper to her in Gaelic and English everything he had ever wanted to say to her, all the precious things he _needed_ her to know, and watch as rosy pink overtook her pallid complexion. He would see her to sleep there, cradled in his arms where nothing could hurt her, and watch over her til she was rested. He wouldn't waste a moment while she slept, memorizing each freckle, crooked eyelash and wayward curl, paying homage to each and every detail of her, loving her the way a woman such as she deserved to be loved. When she woke he would kiss her—cheeks, chin, button nose, forehead, brow—until she laughed and pressed her lips to his, soft and slow and smiling. In his fantasy, Claire would wrap her arms around his neck and rub the tip of her nose against his, her sparkling amber eyes alight and locked on his as she whispered _I love you, Jamie, only you, always you._ She would say those three magic words, the only ones that could possibly heal his heavy soul, and he would answer in kind until they no longer sounded like words, until it was just a truth held between them, as indisputable as the sun rising in the morning. 

He'd always resented the notion of a partner or a lover _completing_ you, as if each of God's creations weren't enough on their own, but it made sense to him now. There was a poetic flourish to the saying, and it wasn't _entirely_ accurate—he was still a man and a father, he had enough of himself left that he could scrape together a life that was good _enough_ , but Claire had taken with her a piece of him that only she could ever give back. 

"Daddy, are we going to Claire's house tonight?" Fiona asked, bouncing excitedly from foot to foot as Jamie attempted to move with her while brushing through her tight ringlets. His research on how to fit all her hair beneath the platinum blonde Elsa wig for trick or treating had yielded but one unfortunate answer: pin curls. He'd been watching tutorials all week in preparation, but when it came down to the wire it seemed as though he'd learned nothing. What he had managed to pin up into flat little curls looked messy and still stuck out at odd angles, but he didn't have all night for this and hoped that the wig cap would smooth them out.

"Aye." He'd seen Claire outside that very day—which was something of a rarity now—perched high up on a ladder hanging cobwebs and skeletons around the front of her house, and despite everything it had squeezed at his heart in the same loving way that her sweet words once had. The idea that she had done it just for Nora and Fiona struck him as a little self centered, but he couldn't help but think that that's why she did it; to make sure that they wouldn't be disappointed to find their favorite person's house lacking in spooky cheer. It only made him love her more. 

_God, she would have been a good mam to them._

"I bet she'll have the _big_ candy bars!" Nora chimed in from the hallway, inspecting the coat that would accompany her costume. It was too hot to wear it quite yet, but she'd been dragging it around with her and chattering on about how excited she was to show Claire since the afternoon.

"We'll have to see," Jamie answered, groaning as the brush got stuck in a tangle of curls once again. It was the one Claire had given them, with a shiny tigerwood handle that would have been wielded much better by her small, gentle hands. He would hardly have had the confidence to even attempt this had it not been for her, patiently instructing him on the finer points of his daughter's curls—he still had the book, with her scribbled notes in the margins, in the drawer of his bedside table. Though he was proud of himself and what he'd learned (their hair _did_ look much better) he would rather have Claire there, all of the time, to brush out tangles and fix up owies and sing _Loch Lomond_ every night before shuffling down the hallway, her hand in his, toward _their_ room. 

Funny, how he had spent years settling his soul with the idea of raising his daughters alone, of never finding love again, and in a manner of weeks he had become very attached to the idea of Claire, forever. That was a dream almost too painful to let go. 

**F** rank hadn't come home, though Claire thought she vaguely remembered him mentioning some Halloween something that they were to attend. The excuse would be easy enough—his wife, "pushing forty" and barren, wanted to stay home to hand out candy to the neighborhood children. But she hardly had the mental space to care where he was or what he told his friends when she knew that Jamie would be standing on her doorstep at some point this evening. They had carefully avoided being around each other for more than a passing second or two, but she knew the girls would want to stay and talk with her before they continued on their trick or treating journey, and it wasn't as if she could ask him to please wait on the sidewalk. That wouldn't be far enough, anyway. Even without seeing him, the mere knowledge that he was barely 50 yards away was enough to bring her to her knees. Unable to bear even the thought of disappointing Fiona and Nora, she donned her cat ear headband, pulled on a black sweater over her leggings, painted herself a nose and whiskers, and waited. 

The porch lights had hardly been on for more than a couple of minutes when she heard the doorbell, and she sighed as she took the bowl of candy off the kitchen table and went to answer it. A part of her hoped it would be them, that she could get it out of the way and go through the rest of the night free from the anticipation of seeing Jamie, but as she approached foyer she could hear their familiar Scottish brogues, and she took one final moment to brace herself.

_This is for the girls._

"Trick or treat!" they cried happily as she pulled open the door, wasting not a second before they launched their little bodies into her arms. She knelt and set the bowl aside just in time to catch them, one on each side of her body as she held them tight for a long moment. They were like the Balm of Gilead, and she needed all the healing she could get. She could feel Jamie's eyes searing into the top of her head, where he had once pressed tender kisses into her curls, but she ignored it as best she could, pulling back to get a look at their costumes.

"I'm Elsa!" Fiona announced, beaming as added little sound effects to her dramatic pose. "You're ice now!"

"Oh no!" Claire cried, freezing with a gaping, shocked expression. After a moment, she turned her attention to Nora, hear heart clenched tight in her chest when she saw her little white doctors coat and the clipboard held in the crook of her arm, bigger than her torso. But before she could say anything, Fiona huffed and pushed at her shoulder.

"You're _frozen_!" she whined with a scowl.

"Ach, Fiona, that wasn't verra nice—we have tae be gentle with people," Jamie scolded, brow raised in a fatherly look that was both gentle but firm. "You wouldn't want Claire tae push _you_ , aye?"

"Nooo," Fiona replied, pouting a little as she looked back to Claire. "I'm sorry, Claire."

"Thank you sweetheart, I forgive you," Claire answered, though she took up her pose once more. "Now will you _please_ unfreeze me, Elsa? I want to see Nora's costume, too!"

Back to her normally happy self, Fiona made a whooshing noise and pressed her arms out dramatically towards Claire. 

"Thank you. And what are you, Miss Nora?"

Nora rocked her hips from side to side, her lips pressed together in a shy smile before she answered. "I'm a doctor, just like you."

Claire grinned, though she felt like crying happy tears and sad tears all at once. She reached out a hand and Nora took it, her cheeks pink as Claire spoke to her.

"You look like a _marvelous_ doctor, Doctor Nora. If I were sick, you are _exactly_ the person I'd want taking care of me," she said, and gave her hand a little squeeze. 

"Thank you," Nora murmured, looking up at her father excitedly. Jamie smiled back, and despite how much it hurt to see them and know that she could never be part of their magic, Claire could have melted. "Ooh! Can I take yer temperature?" 

"Of course you can," Claire answered, grunting a little as Nora jabbed the toy thermometer under her tongue. She guided the girl's little hand out a bit, just so it wasn't stabbing her in the frenulum, and then waited, only vaguely aware of how many germs were probably making their way into her body via the white plastic.

"What was it again?" Nora whispered up at Jamie.

"Ninety eight point seven," he answered slowly with a little chuckle.

"Ninety eight point seven, you're healthy!" the girl repeated as she pulled the thermometer out and stuck it back in the pocket of her tiny lab coat. Claire laughed and thanked her, one arm snaking around Fiona's back as she scooted into the space between her legs and leaned back against her thigh to ensure the child didn't topple over. 

"Now, let me guess: you two didn't just come here to show me your wonderful costumes, did you?"

The girls shook their heads, all pink cheeks and sheepish smiles as Claire reached for the bowl of candy with her free hand. She told them to pick whatever they wanted and held it out as they pawed through to find their favorites, insisting they take more when the each came up with a single piece. It was then that she dared another glance up at their father, and took in for the first time his head to toe Olaf costume, complete with hat. Though she'd been steeling herself for the encounter all afternoon, her heart grew soft for him immediately. As if it had ever truly been otherwise. 

_Of course he dresses up for Halloween, the goddamn father of the year._

She could have kissed him for it, the very thing about him that had first captured her attention—she'd never seen a more dedicated father, or one happier in his duties. Even before she fell in love with him it had been endlessly charming. In another world, where she wasn't married (or likely barren), he was exactly the man she'd choose for her children to call Daddy. She'd be standing with him on the other side of the door, dressed up with just as much enthusiasm, trailing behind the girls with her hand in his as they went from house to house. Reminding herself that she could never have that did little to abate how much she wanted it. 

When he met her eye she couldn't look away, and it seemed neither could he. Even now, after she'd blindsided him and broken his heart, he still looked at her the very same way. Only now, instead of lighting her up from the inside out with love and desire, it made her heart ache in her chest so much she feared it would combust on the spot. Her eyes her only tool, she tried desperately to tell him everything she needed him to know. 

_I love you, I always did, I always will. I'm sorry, you don't deserve to ever hurt like this, I'm so sorry. Please move on, find someone who is good, and thoughtful, who can love you the way you deserve to be loved, and be a mother to these sweet little girls. Please be happy, please, please be happy. I'll do anything, I just want you happy._

"I like yer wee cat ears, Sassenach," he said, pulling her from her reverie as the girls both dropped a handful of candy into the pumpkin shaped buckets he held for them. The name made her stomach drop. She hadn't heard it since the night she left him, and it was like a punch to the gut and the softest, sweetest caress all at once. 

"I...like your Olaf costume," she answered, a melancholy smile on at her lips. 

_Oh God._ This was dangerous. She couldn't see him like this, _talk_ to him like this; her resolve wouldn't hold much longer. She wanted to keep them there, let it slip away until she was reckless enough to whisper to him over the girls' heads that she missed him so much she could hardly function, that she was sorry and she could explain everything if he would just let her come over after they were asleep. _Selfish as usual_. If she did that it would only hurt him, give him hope where she knew there was none. She didn't deserve his love or his forgiveness, and it wouldn't work even if she tried. Eventually he would see her for what she was, and then he couldn't possibly want her.

"Okay girls, I should let you get on with your night but I have one more surprise before you go," she announced, infusing her tone with as much cheer as she could before disappearing into the house. She emerged a moment later holding out two big Flake chocolate bars, direct from her secret stash of British candy. Their eyes grew wide as she handed one to each of them, and the bounced around excitedly in a chorus of "Thank you Fairy Clairy!" before pulling her back down into another big hug.

"You are so welcome, sweet girls," she replied, eyes squeezed shut to savor the joy they gave her. "Have so much fun tonight, Elsa and Doctor Nora."

Safe behind the door once more, Claire leaned back and steadied herself as best she could with deep, shaking breaths. She wanted to be anywhere but there, wanted to disappear or chase after them or wait for Jamie bare in his bed, tucked between sheets that smelled musk and coffee and earth. It was like torture, the joy of being with Fiona and Nora juxtaposed with the pit in her stomach at the sight of their father and the knowledge that she could never have the one thing she wanted. But she had made her choices, thinking of no one but herself, and this was her penance. 

**T** rue to form, the girls chattered on about Claire for the rest of the night, and though the love between the three of them warmed his heart, hearing her name over and over made him think of how badly he wanted her, and thinking of how badly he wanted her reminded him that he could no longer have her. By the time they finally exhausted their sugar high and laid down for the night, Jamie was just as spent as they, though in an altogether different manner. Alone in his bed, his thumb hovered over his text thread with Claire.

_You looked so cute in your wee cheetie costume tonight. I wanted to kiss you til your whiskers smudged._

_Seeing you smile made my night._

_I'm madly in love with you and I miss you every moment and I'd do anything to have you back._

All were typed and erased quickly, the result of one too many glasses of whiskey. He was tempted to sneak downstairs for just one more—he knew it would be enough to allow him to say something to her. Two, and he'd be knocking at her door. With a heavy heart, he looked down at his background photo: still Claire and the girls playing fairies. He could bring himself to change it. After a moment, he clicked back into messages.

_Thank you for being so sweet to Nora about her costume, she was so excited to show you._

Claire rolled over and reached for her phone on the bedside table, her stomach dropping when she saw Jamie's name. Against her better judgement she unlocked it immediately and read the text, smiling to herself even through the pang in her chest.

_It was so cute! They made my night._

_I'm happy to hear it._

When she didn't respond, Jamie finally resigned himself to another sleepless night, set his phone aside and curled himself around a pillow. It was a poor approximation of Claire, lacking her warm, supple curves, the scent of violets that followed her and the feeling of home. Everything, the whole world around him, was lacking without her, but instead of rolling out of bed and demanding she give him even _one_ good reason they shouldn't be together, he closed his eyes and said a prayer for her, Claire who was not his. His sole duty in loving her now was to let her be free and hope she found peace, even if it had to be without him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay my dearies, buckle in. I know it was a bit of a wait to get this one out, but it clocks in at 13,548 words and the plot is a-chugging along, so I hope it will prove to be worth it. For the record, I almost split it in two but I figured that was far too cruel. As always, your support, kudos and kind words are just baffling to me, and they mean the world and more. 
> 
> And an extra special thank you to the groundbreakingly fabulous Janmarie/Statell, without whom I'm not quite sure how this story would look. She may or may not have had one very cute idea in particular that made its way into the final version because it's absolutely adorable but that's nothing more than conjecture because she may or may not have declined credit. I DON'T KNOW. She's the best. Anyway, happy reading to you!
> 
> Ooh! I forgot to add, if you want a reference for their Thanksgiving outfits, head over to my tumblr (@sassenachthroughtime) and it'll be toward the top of the page and tagged accordingly, or you can find it under the Lovers in a Dangerous Time tag.

**C** laire stared, slack jawed, at the invitation, complete with scrawling cursive lettering and a red wax seal on the closure of the golden envelope. 

_Cordially invited, my ass._

She had heard enough about Jocasta's parties, few and far between but buzzed about around town long after the night had ended. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that they were just as decadent as they sounded, and probably something of a lovely time if that was your sort of thing—provided Jocasta didn't hate you. But Claire was fairly certain that Jocasta did, indeed, hate her, so the request for _Mr. and Mrs. Randall's_ presence at her Thanksgiving dinner came as a surprise, and one that wasn't entirely welcome. Although her assessment that awful day had been entirely accurate, and Claire knew it was all for the best, she still felt the acute loss of what it had cost her—three sweet souls who owned the entirety of her heart, whom she'd never be able to call her own.

The thought of even being around Jocasta had her stomach in knots, especially knowing that Jamie and the girls would be there, too. Seeing them on a normal day was heart wrenching enough, but a holiday, and one with such a focus on family and gratitude, would absolutely wreck her. Still, as Geillis so discerningly pointed out over a takeaway charcuterie board from their favorite restaurant that afternoon, Jocasta would likely view a decline of the invitation as quite a stiff. The last thing Claire wanted was to bring about some ongoing feud with the woman. 

"We've been invited to a Thanksgiving dinner," she announced, making no attempt to mask her glum tone, when Frank came home in the evening, and held out the invitation to him.

He was clearly surprised to see her downstairs; and it wasn't as if Claire had any real desire to be there. But despite all the melancholy that had surrounded Halloween, she couldn't deny that she _had_ felt better after getting out and decorating the house. Even if it was forced, she knew that searching for some kind of normalcy would bode well, so she put away her study materials early in hopes that fixing herself a little something for dinner might inspire her to actually eat it. She'd only picked at her plate of roasted veggies, but the act of making them had lifted her spirits a little.

"We have? Who's hosting?" Frank ignored her proffering of the invite in favor of emptying his lunch bag. At least he'd taken the hint and started seeing to his own meals. 

"Jocasta Cameron," Claire answered, setting the envelope on the table and poking at a piece of broccoli with her fork.

"My, well, that _is_ a favorable invitation to receive," Frank mumbled, bent over the dishwasher. He was quiet for a moment, fussing over Claire's placement of dishes, but eventually he stood and turned his attention back to her. "I—was wondering how to bring this up with you, I don't quite know...I was thinking I'd spend some time in Warwick, actually. I already have the three days off, so...convenient timing and all."

"Oh? How...long were you thinking?"

"A week and a half. I thought I'd take off starting the Wednesday before and return the following Saturday; give myself a little time to adjust, you know."

Claire nodded, turning her attention back to the food in front of her.

"You're—ehm—you're welcome to join me, if you'd like, I'm sure everyone would love to see you," he added hastily, but Claire knew he hadn't thought about bringing her along until that very moment.

"No, no, that's quite alright," Claire answered. She had little interest in traveling with Frank or seeing his family, although being back in England _would_ be a welcome escape. The gloomy weather would certainly match her mood far better than South Carolina's clear blue skies. 

"You wouldn't mind it terribly, then?"

"No," she replied after a moment, "I'm sure they miss you, and the children would love to see you."

"Alright. Um, thank you, Claire. You should still go to Jocasta's dinner, though. She's a lovely woman from what I know, and certainly an advantageous person to know."

Claire nodded, though of course she'd caught an unfavorable glimpse of the woman's true nature. But with Geillis' promise that she and Louise would by her side at the dinner, she'd already decided to accept the invitation—now, she was just unsure if it would be better or worse without her husband. With nothing else to be spoken between them, Claire dumped the remainder of her plate into the compost bucket and returned to her office.

She sunk into the big leather chair behind her desk, but her hand faltered as she reached toward her study materials as the slow realization of what she'd just agreed to washed over. A week and a half alone in the too big house, with Jamie just a door away. It made her a little queasy. Not long ago, the prospect would have been thrilling—night after night to sneak freely into her lover's arms under the cover of darkness with no one the wiser. She would have counted down the days. But now, she balked. It was infinitesimally easier, with Frank in the house, to keep herself in her own bed each night despite everything in her that called for Jamie. Even though she knew well enough the error of her own ways, would that alone be enough to keep her away?

Spinning aimlessly to and fro in her chair, she caught out of the corner of her eye a peek of the curling red mop that haunted her days and nights. Lucky her, with a massive window that bore a clear view into his yard. Helpless to stop herself, she turned and stared out the window. Back and forth he went, around the side of the house, carrying pile after pile of wood. Various tools were strewn about in one particular corner of the yard, saws and drills, and a ladder was propped up against a large tree there. Finally, it dawned on her exactly what he was doing. She'd caught him in that same corner before, sometimes surveying with only his eyes and sometimes with a sketchbook and pencil in hand. She always told herself she'd only indulge her voyeurism for a moment, that pining after him would do her no good, but she broke her word each time, drawn in by the mere essence of him and blind of the passing of time. 

_He's building a bloody tree house._

She watched as he set to work, sawing off planks of wood and consulting his notebook now and again as he began to build the foundation into a fork in the tree. Though it was well into evening now, the sun no longer blazing down as it did even this late in the fall, he lost his shirt quickly, and the rippling of his muscles beneath his tanned skin had Claire aching. He moved easily and with purpose, as though he'd completed such a task a hundred times over. It was beautiful, even from afar— _he_ was beautiful. But even more so than his physical prowess, she was touched, as usual, by the heart of the gesture. Jamie had confided in her many times, in the secret hours they had shared, how nervous he had been to uproot his daughters. Lallybroch had been home to generation after generation of Frasers, Scotland just as much a part of his blood and bone as his mother or father. He had always planned to live out his life there, to raise his children in the very home that saw him reared, but with the harrowing pain of Annelise's untimely death the place had become too heavy for him. Leaving all he'd ever known had still been fearsome, but, as he told her one night, his words bolstered by the press of his lips over her heart, she had helped to make South Carolina a home for the three of them, and he was grateful to her for it. It was with no little guilt that she saw the truth of it now, that her actions had jeopardized their fragile sense of belonging.

So, to see him putting down roots, building into the very earth around him a special place just for the girls, one they would likely enjoy for years to come, made her heart swell. He would put down other roots someday, too; find a partner to share his life with, someone who wouldn't dream of hurting him like she had. Then, maybe, it would be easier for Claire herself to move onto, into the lonely life that she had well earned. It would hurt, to see him with someone else, but seeing him happy and well cared for would be well worth the heartache. 

It took her a long moment to realize that Jamie had stopped his work and was staring straight at her. He'd never caught her before, but she knew from the look on his face that he could see her, poorly hidden behind the clear glass window. He flashed her a tight smile and she returned one of her own, though the set of her brows betrayed the melancholy swimming below the surface. Selfish as it was, she couldn't stop herself wanting him. Not just his body or his attention but his life, intertwined with hers. She couldn't help but imagine sneaking up behind him with a glass of ice cold lemonade, wrapping her arms around his waist when he paused long enough for her to catch him, pressing herself to him despite the sheen of sweat covering his body, and the scent she was sure would accompany it. His nod broke her from her musings, and she turned quickly from the window to nurse her embarrassment. 

**T** he sight of Claire in the window, watching him with eyes that betrayed a surprising depth of feeling even from afar, haunted Jamie for days afterward. He looked for her again and again, each time he was outside, but was always met with disappointment in the form of an empty window. It wasn't until he'd asked Murtagh's help with a few of the trickier details, though, that he himself was caught.

"Lad, what in the hell d'ye think yer goin' tae find in that damned window?" he asked, abandoning his drill on the railing that spanned the treehouse balcony.

Jamie swiftly snatched the piece of handheld machinery and set it on the ground, fixing his godfather with a stern look. "Dinna leave it up there, one of us could easily bump something and cause it to fall. The lasses are right down there, what if it hit one of them?" he hissed, gesturing down toward where the girls were stretched out on a large quilt, reading (or at least making their best attempts to) to their great aunt, who listened with rapt attention.

With but a glance in their direction, Murtagh ascertained that the drill would, in fact, need to be thrown in order to put them in harms way, but he didn't say anything. Jamie had been a wild, rough-and-tumble boy, always coming home with a bruise here and a cut there to be tended with loving reproach by his Ma. When he and Annelise first had Eleanor, it was if she was a china doll. They read all the books, all the articles, wrapping her carefully in sleeper suits and affixing tiny mittens to her hands once she outgrew the swaddle. Jamie minded everyone who held her carefully, ensuring their hands were freshly washed and they hadn't been sick, and he never strayed far from her side. _Support her wee head_ and _dinna let her suck on yer finger like that!_ echoed through the halls of Lallybroch—not _quite_ what Murtagh had expected from him. They rejoiced when she met milestones early, but panicked just as earnestly when, at twelve months, little Nora didn't seem interested in crayons even though all the articles suggested that, with her mastery of the pincer grasp, she was ready. The caution ebbed ever so slightly when Fiona came along, once they realized that they hadn't broken her sister, and in fact their little family was doing quite well despite the late interest in crayons. But after Annelise's death it returned tenfold, betraying just how deeply Jamie felt all of the losses that had dotted his past. He never talked about them much—the loss, not the people—but it was in his insistence on carrying the girls up and down the stairs until long after they had mastered the skill themselves, and moments like that with the drill, that Murtagh caught a glimpse of the way it plagued him. He was careful, then, not to tease his godson for his overly careful tendencies, though it was often his first instinct. 

"My apologies, lad. Now, the window? The Sassenach's over here enough—there isn't anythin'... _goin' on_ wi'the two of ye, is there?"

Jamie surveyed the progressing treehouse and quickly set himself to a task, turning pointedly away from Murtagh to hide the heat of shame that overtook his cheeks. 

"Nae, the girls adore her, tis all. She's good to 'em. I think it's important, ye ken, for them tae have...a woman around."

"Aye, suppose 'tis," Murtagh grumbled, bending over with a grunt to retrieve the drill and going back to work on his side of the walls. 

"I hardly thought ye were around here enough to notice such things," Jamie teased, meeting his eye with a chuckle.

"Ach, shut yer wee gob," the older man retorted, though his bushy mustache was hardly enough to the cover peacock proud quirk of his lips.

Jamie knew his godfather well enough—if it was up to him, he'd already have vacated the mother in law suite, as Jamie liked to refer to it, in favor of the big house at Cameron Farms. But Jocasta was a woman of tradition, and she'd see to it that there was a ring on her finger before there was any talk of moving in. It didn't mean that sleepovers were out of the question, though, and Murtagh had given up on his attempts to sneak back in without notice long ago. 

"I think its high time ye find _yerself_ a lass, eh? Have ye even been on a date since ye got here?"

"No," Jamie answered, hoping Murtagh didn't pick up on the forced casualty of his tone. It wasn't _technically_ a lie, but it was far from the truth. He'd fallen well and truly in love, with the one woman he could no longer hope to have. 

"Jocasta, can ye believe our Jamie is still single?" Murtagh called down, and Jocasta tilted her head up vaguely in their direction. 

"Murtagh! Are ye tellin' me the lad's not seeing _anyone_?"

"No, Auntie, no' at the moment," Jamie replied a little uneasily. 

"A handsome man like yerself? Ye must have the women of this town fallin' all over ye," Jocasta called back.

Jamie huffed to himself, hammering a little too aggressively at a nail. He missed a couple of times, denting the wood plank, but paid it no mind. It wasn't as if he didn't get attention from women—he received more than enough. But, despite beauty, wit, or whatever else they might possess, each was more insignificant than the last when compared to Claire, which they always were. 

"Jenny's going to be disappointed when she gets here, lad!" his aunt added with a tip of her head. "I ken she was hoping ye'd find someone."

"Jocasta, can we not talk about this in front of the lasses," Jamie implored, his voice something of a hiss as he noticed that Claire had, at some point, stepped into her yard to tend to the raised garden beds. He didn't want to talk about dating in front of his children, he really didn't want to talk about it with Claire in earshot, he didn't want to talk about it at all. The pressures of his family, though they came from a place of love, didn't make it any easier to face the prospect of a life alone once more. Jocasta offered a vague Scottish noise of agreement and went back to her embroidery. 

Jamie's prayers that the girls didn't notice Claire— _please God, not when he had no escape_ —went unanswered when, a few minutes later, their excited cries of her name echoed through the yard as they tore off in her direction.

"Good morning, ladies!" Claire cried from the far end of the yard, setting down her gardening tools. Her face fell when she saw Jocasta, turned toward her voice, on a lawn chair in the yard, but Jamie had already turned back to the task at hand, and no one was the wiser. 

"What are ye doin'?" Fiona asked, pressing up on her tiptoes to try and peek over the side of the raised garden. She was still just a touch too short, and reached her arms automatically up to Claire, who obliged. 

"I'm taking care of my garden," she answered, trying to push away the feeling of Jocasta's sightless observation. 

"What's that?" The girls went on and on, pointing to each plant, and Claire answered until they'd exhausted that particular bed, but before Fiona could throw her weight toward the next one, forcing Claire to follow in order to keep them both upright, Nora cut in.

"Ooh! Claire, guess what guess what?" she squealed, her face splitting into a grin as she remembered the exciting news.

"What?"

"Our cousins are coming tae visit! For Thanksgiving! And we get tae skip school for the _whole_ week not just the three days so we can play with them _and_ we get to show them all our favorite things in Charleston and then we get tae go to Auntie Jocasta's fancy dinner party!"

"Daddy said we could pick out new dresses too!" Fiona chimed in, bouncing excitedly in Claire's arms. 

"My goodness, that is exciting business!" Claire replied, careful to match their enthusiasm even though she absolutely dreaded said _fancy dinner party_. 

"Your friend Claire is coming to Thanksgiving dinner too, isn't she?" Jocasta called from across the yard, beckoning them over with a wave of her hand. "Come, sit with us awhile!"

Claire almost gawked openly at the request, but quickly schooled her expression and set Fiona back on the ground so the girls could lead her over. She looked in Jamie's direction just long enough to offer a neighborly wave and then took up a spot on the picnic blanket beside Nora and Fiona, who were, at present, pawing through a pile of Barbie dolls to decide which one Claire ought to play.

"How are ye, dearie?" the older woman asked, her tone dripping with the same sick sweetness Claire had heard on the afternoon her heart had been ripped in two.

"Just fine," she answered, too sharply. She held her breath for a moment, but when the girls didn't so much as look up at her abrupt tone she released it, slowly and quietly as she could in hopes that Jocasta wouldn't hear. "And yourself?"

"Och, I'm well," Jocasta answered with a nod and a smile. "We were just discussin' how my nephew has lived here for nigh on half a _year_ with no' so much as a date! Can ye believe that? A braw lad like my Jamie, and no' a woman in sight."

Claire was so angry she could have spit. Apparently Jocasta's insolence knew no bounds. But before she could launch herself across the picnic blanket and throttle the woman, Jamie's voice cut clear through the yard.

"Jocasta, enough!" He roared, and all heads whipped in his direction, startled by his outburst. "I asked ye no' tae talk of such things in front of my children and I'll thank ye tae oblige me."

Jocasta raised her brows but acquiesced, reaching around for her embroidery.

"What's a girlfriend?" Fiona asked curiously, Barbies forgotten in favor of a more exciting conversation.

"Its the girl ye kiss, ye wee daftie," Nora answered. "Auntie Geillis has a girlfriend!" If her cheeky grin was any proof, she was all too proud to be privy to adult business.

"Dinna talk tae yer sister like that, Eleanor," Jamie scolded from above, looking over the railing with a nod from one daughter to the other.

"So-rry," Nora grumbled, and rolled her eyes. 

"Could _I_ have a girlfriend some day?" Fiona wondered aloud, her head tilted a little as she furrowed her brows.

"You could," Claire answered, plainly enough.

"Och, but what about a boyfriend?" Jocasta cut in quickly, with an excited glitter in her milky eyes. "I bet there are some nice wee laddies in yer class at school, eh? And good Catholic boys at that."

"You could have _either_ one. Or even both; whatever makes you happy. _I_ think that anyone who treats you well and makes you happy is a good thing—don't you agree, Jocasta?" It was all a jab, subtle enough to fly over the girls heads, but she could see by the annoyed twitch of Jocasta's lips that it was received by her intended target. 

"Ach, such things are far too complicated for lasses so young," Jocasta replied; of course she wouldn't concede. "Ye'll no' have tae worry about such things for many a year. You just enjoy being little girls." 

That, at least, the two women could agree on. Claire couldn't help but think that Jamie would be one hell of a dad to bring a date home to someday. 

**S** he didn't see him except in passing for nearly a fortnight after that, and though she missed him as fiercely as ever, a certain sense of ease began to creep back into her existence. One meal a day became two, and then three, she started taking walks in the morning (carefully scheduled to avoid Jamie and the girls), and eventually her online grocery orders turned back into trips to the store . She even felt an occasional spark of joy when playing with the girls or meeting Geillis out for lunch. Perhaps she could live like this after all. It wasn't that she had hope, for in Jamie's absence there could be none, but maybe, someday, she would be able to find something akin to acceptance. It should have been a relief after all the heaviness she'd been carrying, but she hated herself for being able to go on with her life. She deserved to be stuck in that can't eat, can't sleep misery she'd been feeling, and she would have followed her darker thoughts all the way back to that place if it weren't for Fiona and Nora, who once again swooped in as her unwitting saviors.

They were young, they didn't know any better—didn't know that she was a liar and a cheat who had hurt their father so grievously. But no one could deny that she made them happy, and she liked making them happy. It made her happy, too, and provided a much needed sense of purpose. She couldn't and wouldn't leave them, not until she was sure that Jamie had found someone good to bring into their lives, into their family.

_My replacement,_ she thought wryly to herself.

Then, and only then, would she see herself quietly out. So, not for her own sake, she pushed away the voices in her mind that wanted to self flagellate into nothingness, and forced herself to cling to every bit of _okay_ she could find. 

The first couple days of Frank's trip, she hardly noticed he was gone. She still woke alone, laid down at the end of the day alone, took her meals alone. They barely saw each other when he was home, anyway—things weren't altogether that different. But on the third night, when she found it particularly difficult to distance herself from the remembrance of Jamie's weight beside her in bed and the slow, soft way he'd smile after they'd made love as if he'd suddenly become shy, the troublesome part of her that still wanted him above all else reminded her that Frank wasn't there to stop her, or even spot her on the way out. She could pull on a robe and tread across the dewy grass between their homes, wait for him on the back porch like she used to, deliriously excited to feel the press of his lips against hers again. It was egotistical, perhaps, but she _knew_ deep in her heart, that if she did, he would take her back—she could see it clear as crystal in her minds eye. He would ask if she was alright and she would tell him everything, his big, warm hands holding hers as they trembled. She'd tell him that every fibre of her being was in love with him, that Jocasta had forced her hand and she never, ever wanted to leave him—and she never would again, if he'd still have her. He would wipe away all those weeks of hurt with his forgiveness, and the soft caress of his thumb over her skin, and the overwhelming magic of being completely and purely loved that he had always given her. That _only_ he had given her. But even in her fantasy, the real world was far too daunting to be ignored. Jamie would be furious with Jocasta, who was his only kin this side of the Atlantic _and_ his employer; nothing about that would end well. And what would she herself do—ask him to _wait_ for her like in the ridiculous early aughts rom-coms Geillis was so fond of? Promise him a real date once she and Frank were divorced? There was simply no way to work out all of the ugly ties and loose ends that had separated them in the first place, and so she remained firmly planted in her own bed that night. 

Saturday, however, proved to be a even more difficult than that. 

**A** s planned, the girls had bounded over to her house in the early afternoon to make cookies. She'd started making an effort to have them over to her own house instead of the other way around, and so far it had been working quite nicely—they were always excited by the prospect of clacking around in her heels or painting their nails in her special colors. When they arrived unexpectedly, she'd shoot Jamie a text to make sure he knew where they were, and he would reply with a simple thumbs up reaction; it was that easy. After eating more cookie dough than they ultimately baked and tending to Claire's garden together though, the girls begged her to come over and play with their doll house.

"Yer better at dollies than Daddy," Fiona had pleaded, and Claire could hardly say no to that.

So she found herself in their basement playroom, dressing up Barbies and playing in the massive doll house Jamie had built for them. It was so tall that Fiona had to stand on a stool to reach the top floor, to her absolute delight. Though Claire had played with the dollhouse many times, the pang in her chest never lessened when she thought about Jamie, in his workshop at Lallybroch, building it with his own to hands. It was borne out of love, just as his daughters were. 

He was nowhere to be seen for a while, leaving the girls in peace to play, but eventually afternoon began to shift into evening, and he came down to see what they wanted for dinner.

"It's gettin' tae be dinner time, lassies, anything ye—Sassenach," he exclaimed when he saw her, criss cross apple sauce and listening patiently as Nora explained exactly how she ought to be playing a particular doll. "I didna hear ye down here."

She could see the surprise written clearly on his face; it was always harder for her when she didn't expect to see him. Perhaps it was the same for him. 

"They coerced me into playing dolls," she clarified, as if he needed assurance that she hadn't just wandered over for the fun of it.

"Play with us, Daddy!" the girls pleaded, and Claire and Jamie exchanged uncomfortable glances. They had carefully avoided that very thing, and successfully, for weeks. Claire was about to make an excuse when Nora added, "Ye never play wi' Claire anymore! Pleeease, just for a little bit before dinner?"

Jamie blanched.

_How very right you are_ floated through Claire's mind. Her eyes flicked up to meet his once more, and she found herself absorbed in an ocean of hesitancy and apology for a moment too long. He nodded subtly and she recovered, turning her attention back to the children.

"I can only play for a few more minutes, then I have to—get home to make sure Posey gets fed, alright?" she offered, hoping they wouldn't notice that they were very much getting the short end of the compromise stick. They smiled in agreement, though, happy simply to get their two favorite grown ups to play with them together even if it would only be for a short while.

Moving almost gingerly, Jamie sat down and reached for a doll, but Nora stopped him.

"You're no' as good as Claire at dollies, Da!" she exclaimed with a bashful giggle.

"Oh, lass, I'm hurt!" Jamie replied playfully, bringing a fist against his stomach as he sprawled dramatically across the floor. His long leg brushed Claire's and she scooted away as though she'd been singed, but she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as Nora and Fiona piled atop him none too gently. She'd been so caught up in missing other things that it had almost been lost on her how much she loved watching him play, but now it hit her harder than expected. 

"Airplane!" Fiona demanded from between his legs. Jamie rolled Nora off of him, all rough and tumble on the surface though Claire noticed the careful way he cupped her as he deposited her onto the floor beside him. Positioned against her father's feet, Fiona leaned forward enough to grab his hands and then she was flying, delighted squeals and giggles escaping. Jamie zoomed her around, adding sound effects as she ducked and dived, and for a moment Claire allowed herself to forget about everything else—Frank, Jocasta, the way Jamie's face fell when she told him it was over and the fact that she would never have him the way she wanted. She wasn't an adulterer or a piss poor excuse for a role model, she was just a woman, watching the man she loved play with the children she loved just as much and for that moment, it was bliss.

But then she heard her name in the clear, singsong voice of childhood, and when she came back to herself she found that the girls were now demanding that _she_ take a turn flying up in the air. 

"Oh, I'm too big," she dismissed, looking around for something to distract them. 

"Daddy's verra strong!" Nora pointed out matter of factly.

_Oh, I_ _know._

It was a horrid idea, both of them knew it. But the girls were so insistent, and watching Jamie play with them had brought about that reckless part of her, wild with love, and when he met her eye she nodded, though a little hesitantly. Their fingers locked easily and then she was suspended above him. She felt the weightless, breathless kind of joy that only he had ever inspired inspired in her as a grown woman—he was the only person who'd ever thought to pick her up. The girls were making vrooming and swishing sounds and she couldn't help but laugh, though the press of his feet against her lower stomach caused it to expel as more of a puff of breath. Jamie's eyes met hers through the wild veil of curls and his breath caught in his chest, his hands tightening reflexively in hers. She squeezed back without a thought, running her thumb up and down the side of his pointer, and then her heart crawled right up into her throat. They hadn't so much as brushed arms, for good reason, since the afternoon of her birthday, but their fingers threaded together brought back a flood of memories that she'd been fighting to tuck away. Immediately she wanted more; with the mere bend of his elbows, he could bring her down to meet his lips. 

She could see Jamie felt it, too. The tempest in his eyes was unmistakable as he swallowed hard and placed her back on her feet, holding on just long enough to be sure she was steady before he pulled away. Claire was never terribly adept at hiding her emotions, and her bottom lip quivered a little as she told the girls it was time for her to go. Jamie followed them upstairs at a distance, watching as the three said their goodbyes. His whole body was taught with restraint, fingers jumping against his thigh and betraying just how much it cost him not to reach for her. Even with sorrow swimming in her eyes she looked so bonnie like that, suspended above him with her curls dangling in her face, and in the meeting of their hands he found the same thrumming magic that had always been between them. She had, too, he knew it—she'd pulled away as if she'd been scorched. But for a split second, before the world caught up to her, the whites of her teeth had flashed with a grin that set his soul alight. He hadn't seen her happy like that in so long it had almost come as a shock, as though the memories he did have of her were as ephemeral as their time together. The idea that the Claire he had known in those sacred hours was already fading from his memory disturbed him greatly, and try as he did to stay present for his daughters throughout the evening, she was always there, floating around in his mind. 

He squeezed _Loch Lomond_ out of a tight throat that night as the girls nestled into their beds. The song always reminded him of her, though he'd never had the great pleasure to see her against the mountainous greenery of his home country, but tonight it hurt worse than usual. The ache in his soul was as visceral and disturbing as it had been the night she left him, but he muscled down his emotion for the sake of his children.

"Daddy?" Nora asked with a tired voice just as he'd reached the door. 

"What is it, a leannan?" her father replied softly, coming back to sit on the edge of her bed. 

"Claire looked sad when she left today. Why was she sad?" Her blue-green eyes were big and full of worry and he thought for a moment she might cry before she added, "She looks sad a lot now."

"Oh, lass," Jamie sighed, reaching to smooth a hand over the frizzy curls that framed her small face. He was quiet for a moment, painfully aware of the fact that he didn't have a good answer for her—he'd been asking himself the very same question. "She's—I dinna ken why Claire is sad, I'm sorry, sweetheart. But I know that _ye_ make her verra happy." 

The corners of her lips turned up at that, clearly proud of the fact, but Jamie still couldn't help the guilt he felt. He hadn't fought for Claire the way he wanted to out of respect for her, but in doing so he had cost his daughters any chance of growing up with a mother and despite their efforts, the change in things had not gone unnoticed. Nora had always been thoughtful, kind and intuitive; he should have been better prepared for this moment, should have seen it coming.

"Maybe she's like Tinkerbell, when she starts tae fade. Maybe she needs some special Fairy Clairy dust."

_I wish it were that simple, lass,_ Jamie thought, and gave her hand a squeeze.

"Mebbe that's it," he answered, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams, I love you."

"Love you too, Da," Nora mumbled as she shifted into a little ball beneath the sheets.

**U** nderscored by Louise's playfully rhythmic honking, Claire took one final look at herself in the hallway mirror before she set off. She had that sleepless look about her again, all dark circles and weary eyes that even a carefully applied face of makeup couldn't _quite_ conceal. 

As expected, nothing got past Geillis. Though she'd been a little to _involved_ with Louise to notice her friend walking out to the car, she craned around the passenger seat the second Claire's door was shut and gave her a long, examining look.

"What's happened?" 

The matter of fact tone to her voice made it obvious enough that Claire would do better being honest than trying to sidestep her way out of this one.

"I saw him earlier in the week and it...it wasn't good," she admitted, newly ashamed at how foolish she had been. None if this would have happened if she'd just left when he came downstairs, as she knew in the moment she should. 

"Would you like to talk about it?" Louise spoke up before Geillis could say anything.

"Not now," Claire answered, grateful that Louise had stepped in before the conversation could go any further. It would do her well to talk about it at some point, but getting into it now would undo all the careful preparation she'd undertaken that day in order to make it through Thanksgiving at Jocasta's. 

"We're here whenever ye do want to." 

The drive out to Jocasta's passed easily, though the undercurrent of tension emanating from Claire in the back seat was somewhat palpable. Louise's impending opening night for Charleston Stage's annual production of A Christmas Carol proved an easy enough topic of conversation, and all too soon they were making their way down long private drive that led to Jocasta's homestead. As Louise pulled up to the valet, Claire reached for her purse on the seat beside her and took a steadying breath.

"Ye can do this," Geillis reassured her friend, reaching blindly back for her hand to give it a squeeze.

"And we can leave whenever you want to," Louise added, putting the car in park and smiling kindly at the approaching valet.

"Well now don't—I'm no great fan of Jocasta's, but the woman throws a good party," Geillis inserted quickly, shooting Louise a look.

"You're right," Claire said, putting a stop to things. As good natured as the pair always was with each other, it was sometimes difficult to bear witness to the way they loved each other, their playful, sometimes wordless communication. "I'll be just fine, there's really nothing to worry about." Somewhere, in the back of her mind, an old Rogers and Hammerstein tune about faking ones way into confidence played.

"That's a gal! We'll have fun—the auld hag does throw a great party." Geillis' voice was low so as not to be overheard as the trio walked up toward the door, but Claire caught one of the attendants snickering not far off. At least _someone_ was on their side.

The double doors were pulled open for them, and even Claire had to admit the lively atmosphere inside was appealing. The house was packed, with little ones running underfoot through the crowds that were gathered in every room and alcove. From the foyer one could see straight through to the back yard, where people had spilled out onto the manicured lawn. Claire was comforted by the sheer size of the gathering—in a group this large, avoidance would be easy enough. As they dropped off their purses, Geillis inquired as to the location of the bar and they set off, weaving through the throngs of guests and stopping here and there to chat. Though Claire recognized many faces from Frank's social circle, Jocasta cast a decidedly wider net and and she found herself enjoying the new introductions that were made far more than her husband's colleagues. 

The possibility of Jamie around every corner kept her on edge, but the feeling receded a little as she sipped at her cocktail and fell into easy conversation with a group of Geillis and Louise's friends that they'd come across in one of the sitting rooms. She hardly expected it, but she was having a good time. It was nice to be at a party as herself, and not _Mrs. Randall._ There was no courting of advantageous conversations, no pushing the attention to Frank and his accomplishments. It wasn't that she needed the attention or validation, talking about herself, but when questions came her way, she had _answers._ She hadn't had those in so long. As they moved through the circles of people she stuck close to Geillis and Louise mostly because she didn't know anyone else all that well, and for support should either persona non grata cross her path, but so far both had remained blessedly out of sight. She'd seen Nora for just a moment before she was tugged back into play by a hoard of children, but that had only made her smile brighter. 

Dragged into another group as they waited for the crowding around the long table of appetizers to abate, Claire was a little nervous as she watched a baby girl with big, curious brown eyes being passed from person to person. It wasn't that she didn't like babies, she'd just never had much exposure. As the little bundle made its way closer to her, she looked around nervously for anyone who appeared to be the girls parent—perhaps they'd swoop in and take her before it was her turn—but she had no such luck. When the woman beside her turned and looked at her expectantly, though, the tiny thing was so precious that she couldn't help but reach her arms out. Two small, chubby arms met her half way and she took the child and settled her against her hip. The nameless little girl set to work immediately, fisting handfuls of Claire's curls and playing with them.

"Well my goodness, you're not shy are you?" she cooed, smiling as she tilted her head so as to minimize the painful tugging. 

As she fussed over the baby, running gentle fingers over her chubby cheeks, she felt the tingle of intent eyes on her and knew immediately to whom they belonged. Looking up, she found Jamie staring back at her from a doorway down the hall. A short woman with long blonde hair was talking intently to him and he appeared a little cornered, but his attention was now fixed on her with a kind of intensity she'd never seen. She smiled weakly at him as the blonde, realizing she'd lost his attention, leaned in in unmistakable flirtation and pressed a hand to his chest. _That_ she didn't need to watch, and she forced her eyes back to the little girl in her arms. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wondered if it had anything to do with her holding a baby, but thankfully she was approached by another partygoer before she could tunnel too deep into that line of thinking.

"There you are!" the man said, clearly to the baby, before looking up with smiling eyes at Claire. "I handed her off to a friend of mine and before you know it, I'm baby-free for forty five minutes!" He laughed and reached his arms out to the little girl, who happily threw herself in his direction, and Claire was relieved to find he wasn't upset about it. 

"She's just darling, what's her name?" Claire asked, her accent coming as a surprise to him. 

"Ella Grace," he answered, adjusting the dangling blanket that was wrapped haphazardly around his daughter. "I've got another one running around here somewhere, just turned six—haven't seen him since we got here. I'm Joe."

"Claire; nice to meet you." 

"Dad!" 

Both heads turned to find a little boy running almost too fast to keep up with himself down the hall—Claire hadn't noticed, but apparently as the heat of the day retreated into evening a good portion of the party had moved outside and there was far more space to move around now. Jamie hadn't, she knew, she could still see him out of the corner of her eye but she refused to allow herself even a glance. Behind him and breathless came Fiona, who lit up upon seeing Claire and made no attempt to slow down. Wobbling slightly on her heels, Claire caught her and lifted the girl up into her arms, little legs wrapping around her waist. 

"Hello, sweetheart!" Claire said, tugging down one puffy sleeve of her rose-printed dress, which had ridden up to her shoulder. 

"Hi Mr. Abernathy," Fiona said over the little boy's complaints of hunger, brushing her hair out of her face. 

"Hi there, Fiona. Is this your mom?" Joe asked with a smile, looking back at Claire with a new interest.

"No, no, just a—family friend," Claire answered quickly, feeling the tips of her ears grow hot. "Um—Fiona, is this one of your classmates?"

"Dad I'm _starving,_ " the little boy wined, stamping his feet rapidly against the glossy wood floor.

"Lenny, be patient please, I'm talking to someone," Joe chided. "We'll get you a plate in a minute—dinner should be ready soon anyway. This is my Lenny."

Fiona wiggled out of Claire's arms and, in an attempted whisper to her friend, said, "This is _Fairy Clairy_ ," with a serious look on her face. 

Lenny looked up at Claire with wider eyes this time, then turned back to Fiona and replied quietly, "She _is_ pretty." 

Claire couldn't help but laugh a little, though the revelation that Fiona went to school and told her friends about her inspired a restless ache beneath her breastbone. 

"It's very nice to meet you, Lenny, I'm Claire," she said with a smile, and shook his small hand. Joe pat his son on the back, then looked back to Claire and mouthed the word _sorry_ in her direction. 

Apparently no longer starving, the children caught sight of something in the next room, and Lenny took Fiona's hand in his to pull her off for further adventures.

"I didn't—I'm so sorry," Joe said when they were out of earshot, clearly embarrassed.

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about," Claire replied, though the slip-up would haunt her mind the rest of the night and possibly beyond. "I live next door to Jamie."

"Ahh. Great guy, isn't he? Fiona and Lenny go to school together—all the kids just love him. He's one of the room parents this year and Lenny goes crazy whenever he comes in."

"Yes, he's—he's a great Dad." Claire didn't know what in the hell being a room parent entailed, but she imagined whatever it was, Jamie was the perfect candidate. She glanced up to see if he was still close but he'd disappeared along with the blonde, the implications of which she tried to push as far from her mind as possible.

"Claire, dear, is that ye?" 

_Perfect. Perfect perfect perfect. Exactly the person I wanted to see._

Jocasta made her way down the hall, led by a shiny black cane with a golden handle that Claire could only imagine was real, and when she looked around she found neither of her friends anywhere to be seen. Luckily, a waiter appeared from the kitchen door at that exact moment with a tray of champagne, and Claire plucked a flute for herself as he passed, drinking just slow enough as to not look suspect.

"It is," she replied warily, forcing as much of a smile as she could for the benefit of anyone else who might see her.

"And...Joe?" 

"Yes ma'am, and might I say it's lovely, as usual," Joe replied, taking the older woman's hand and squeezing it warmly. 

"Thank ye kindly," Jocasta replied. "And where's Mr. Randall tonight? I was told you'd only RSVP'd for one."

"He's in England, visiting family."

Jocasta hummed primly, judgement evident in her tone though she didn't say anything more.

"Ella Grace, this is Mrs. Cameron," Joe murmured to his daughter, and Jocasta lit up with a beaming smile. Claire thought she was almost pretty like that, though she knew her ways far too well to ever assign her such a kind term. Joe maneuvered Ella's cheek into Jocasta's waiting hand, and she stroked the soft skin just as Claire had, fingers playing in the downy hair atop her little head.

"Well my goodness, isn't she just precious," Jocasta cooed when the little girl gripped her finger in a dimpled fist. "Hello there, Ms. Ella Grace. How old now?"

"Six months," Joe answered proudly.

"Claire dear, have ye seen Jamie tonight?" She asked it so casually, as though it weren't an outright attack, and if they'd have been alone Claire knew she would have broken down and laid into her. Wasn't it enough that she'd ended their relationship? She'd gotten exactly what she wanted, couldn't she just leave it be? But it seemed every time Claire had the great misfortune of seeing her there was another barb waiting to be launched, just to make sure Claire remembered who'd come out victorious.

As if she could have forgotten.

"No, I haven't," Claire answered, her voice tight in her throat. 

"Ach, well. Perhaps he's off wi' Lindsay MacKenzie; she's the daughter of a friend of mine, and I thought I'd introduce them while she's in town. Lovely lass, graduated wi' a degree in education last year. She teaches middle school down in Georgia."

"How lovely."

So _that_ was the blonde, then. Just graduated, which would put her around twenty two. Much too young for Jamie, but likely far more appealing than Claire's own thirty eight. 

Just then, the clanging of a bell echoed through the hall, signaling that it was time to sit for dinner, and Claire silently thanked a God she had no faith in.

**J** amie sat taught in his chair all through dinner, his jaw painfully tense as Lindsay continued her assault. Though he'd managed to track down the girls in time to get them to sit with him, with them came Claire. He could tell as she approached their table that she'd intended to slip by without notice and find somewhere else to eat, far from him, but her presence was never lost in Fiona or Nora, and they'd coerced her into sitting between them, causing a shuffle at the table. As it was, well into the main course, he was flanked by Lindsay on one side, her hand familiarly on his knee as she barely touched her plate, and Fiona on the other, with Claire beside her. Luckily their section of the long table was also populated by Jenny, Ian and the wee ones, Geillis and Louise, and Joe and his family, among others. The children dominated much of the conversation, thankfully, especially with the Murray brood's excitement over their week in America, but Lindsay still made her attempts. He didn't want to embarrass the lass, but Christ, she was more than a little flagrant for his tastes, and in front of his children no less. At least she'd be returning to Georgia that weekend and he'd likely never have to see her again.

He tried to keep his eyes from Claire as much as he could so as not to make things uncomfortable between them, but she looked so bonnie in her navy dress with her hair wild about her shoulders, it was difficult not to watch her whenever she wasn't looking in his direction. Janet seemed to like her quite a bit, and the two of them chatted easily over the heads of the children seated between them.

When Claire noticed that, while she'd finished her meal, Jenny had barely taken a bite, she offered to hold wee Michael, who was fussing in his mother's arms, and Jamie thought perhaps he'd die right there. Not since Annelise cradled little Fiona had he seen a woman so beautiful with a bairn in her arms. He'd caught her with Joe's daughter earlier in the evening and it had stolen his breath, but seeing her with his own kin had the strings of his heart knotted up far too tight. Fiona and Nora were both taken with their newest cousin, whom they'd not had a chance to meet before leaving Scotland, and turned in their seats, food forgotten, to fuss over him with along with her. 

"He's so soft," Fiona marveled, watching with fascination as Michael's small fingers closed around one of her own.

"I know," Claire replied softly, smiling down at the tiny bundle in her arms.

"I wish I had a baby brother," the younger Fraser added, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby's fist.

"Auntie Jenny, how old is he?" Nora asked.

"Almost three months," Jenny replied after she'd finished chewing.

"He's tiny," Claire murmured, looking back to Jenny with a smile. 

"I ken it!" she echoed eagerly, laughing as she relinquished the next bite waiting on her fork to Caitlin's grabby hands. "The rest o' em were well o'er nine pounds, so he was a welcome change."

Claire choked a little on her champagne, the hand that wasn't cradling Michael flying to her chest. "Oh—my god," she murmured, balking at the mere prospect of delivering a baby that size, none the less a whole gaggle of them. 

"I dinna ken how ye traveled here wi' all of em, I would ha' lost my mind," Jamie chimed in, catching Claire's eye for just a moment as he looked down the table to his sister.

"We wanted tae see ye for yer first American Thanksgiving, ye clot-heid—and we verra nearly died," Janet replied, though she was smiling. 

"An hour intae the layover at Heathrow I though about runnin' out in front of one o' the planes," Ian added, eyes gleaming as he sipped at his whiskey. 

"D'ye plan on havin' children Claire?" Jenny asked. "I saw yer ring, tis all."

"Oh—um—I'm— not sure," Claire floundered, cheeks pinking. 

"Ach, well, ye've got plenty of time."

_Not nearly as much as you might think_ , she thought to herself as she pushed her chair out and stood behind it to rock the tiny bundle in her arms, who'd begun to fuss. 

"I'm actually studying for my medical license at the moment, so—the two schedules aren't exactly compatible." Claire didn't quite know why she felt obligated to provide her reasoning, but she figured this was a much easier conversation than _I'm leaving my husband and in love with your brother but I can't have him so I've relegated myself to a loveless, childless existence._

Down the table, Joe's head snapped in her direction. "You're a doctor?" 

"I am," Claire answered proudly, now bouncing gently with Michael curled up against her chest. He seemed to like that better, and even though he'd stopped fussing she figured she'd keep at it just in case he grew cranky again. It felt good, too, his cheek pressed against her skin, the soft puffs of breath, the smell of his small, fuzzy head. If she'd never have this for herself, she supposed she'd borrow it where she could. 

"No way—I'm an attending over at MUSC. What's your specialty?"

"I was an orthopaedic surgeon back in England, but from what I've gathered I'll have to start from the ground up here."

"You should look into our residency program when you're ready, I'd love to have you on the team," Joe offered, and Claire told with a grin that she would.

"Weel, at any rate ye look good wi' a bairn in yer arms," Jenny added with a wink. Though Jamie could only see her from the corner of his eye now, he was inclined to agree. 

He was grateful during all this that Lindsay had been absorbed into another conversation toward the opposite end of the table, but as soon as he turned back to his plate for another bite, she pounced once more.

"Your family is so sweet, Jamie," she said, leaning closer as she looked up at him. "But your sister has so many children and you've only the two; do you ever think about remarrying, and having more? I've always loved children—I'm a teacher, you know."

"Aye, so ye mentioned," Jamie grumbled, stabbing a little too aggressively at a piece of turkey. He could feel Claire's presence behind him, bouncing and cooing softly to Michael, and wished she'd sit back down so he could see her more clearly, soak in the picturesque sight of her with a bairn. 

_Ye should be tryin' tae look away, no' storin' up pictures of things ye canna have,_ his wiser self told him, but that didn't stop him. She was using a voice he'd never heard before, but not overly high and piercing as some women were when talking to babies. It was brighter than her usual tone, to be sure, but still low, and so _Claire._ He didn't care much to admit that he envied his infant nephew, but he did. He yearned to be cradled in Claire's arms, his skin against hers, comforted by her gentle murmurings. Even a _moment_ like that would soothe all the hurt of the past few weeks, he was certain. He realized that Lindsay was still prattling on about something or other, but his attention wasn't stolen until he felt her hand coming to rest on his leg, far higher up than was appropriate. He jumped a little in surprise and she removed it quickly, her brow furrowed as she looked at him.

"Lindsay, it's been nice tae meet ye, but I'll thank ye tae keep yer hands off me," he said, his voice low and even despite his rising level of annoyance. She looked hurt, so young in that moment that Jamie felt a bit like a lech even though the interaction had been entirely one sided. "Ye ken, there are plenty of men here far more appropriate for ye, I'm sure Jocasta would be happy to make introductions.

"But she—" the girl caught herself with a huff and pouted as her eyes flicked between him and her plate several times before she abruptly pushed her chair back from the table and stalked off. In her haste, she bumped into Claire, who stumbled a bit with the baby still in her arms. Jamie reached out to steady her without thinking, catching her by the elbow and holding on for longer than was strictly necessary. Neither of Michael's parents noticed, but Claire looked spooked, and Jamie couldn't help but smooth a hand up and down the transparent blue fabric that covered her arms. She froze, swallowing hard, but she didn't move away, and thankfully the baby was still nestled calmly against her, not too jostled. 

"Are ye alright?" he asked, turned in his chair to face her as best he could. 

"I—yes, thank you," she said, weakly shrugging away from his touch. "Just a little alarmed. I don't...hold a lot of babies, and I'd rather not break this one."

"It fits ye," Jamie said, his cheeks turning red as his mind caught up to his mouth. Claire looked a little stricken by his comment, her breath caught in her throat for a moment, and she didn't say anything in reply.

"Um, would you like to hold your nephew?" she managed after a moment, looking for a way out as their eyes remained locked. Jamie nodded and stood, holding out his practiced arms as Claire laid the bairn in them. He could have watched her do that a thousand times, her eyes warm and intent on the baby as she fixed where his blanket had come untucked, and never tire of the sight. It seemed they were running into danger left and right lately, as if they were drawn to each other by some chaotic magnet that wouldn't surrender until _something_ changed between them. 

What it wanted, Jamie didn't know, and when Claire looked up at him for a split second after the hand off, he didn't know what she wanted anymore, either. 

**T** he rest of the night passed easily enough, with Claire stuck like glue to Geillis and Louise, carefully avoiding Jamie, the blonde, and Jocasta. Inside, the furniture in the would-be ballroom had been carried aside or out of the room completely to make room for dancing, and the trio partook until they were out of breath and a little sweaty. 

"I'm goin' for another drink, anybody need anything?" Geillis announced as they made their way to the edge of the massive room. When Claire fixed her with a questioning gaze, she retorted with, "I'm no' drivin'!" and disappeared. 

"I'm about ready to call it a night," Claire told Louise with a sigh, heaving to catch her breath. 

"I doubt Geillis will be in agreement," Louise joked with a smirk. "She's a wild one." 

"I wouldn't want to get between G and a party; I'll call a car, don't worry about it. I'm pretty knackered though, so I think I'll make it a French exit tonight."

"I don't blame you, with this many people you'd be here til tomorrow morning. Get home safe."

"Thank you for the ride, and for—thank you," Claire said as Louise pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek. "You two made tonight survivable."

"The heart always heals," she whispered as she pulled away, giving Claire one last squeeze on the arm. She nudged her toward the door and Claire took her leave, hoping to be able to skirt through the crowd to the foyer without Geillis or anyone else catching her. She almost made it, were it not for the Frasers gathering their bearings at the door. 

"Are you going home too Claire?" Nora asked with a yawn. "Da says we have tae, _Fiona_ is getting tired." She shot her sister an accusatory glare, as though she herself had nothing to do with the end of their night.

"Mmhm," Claire answered, pulling out her phone to call for a Lyft. Pulling on his blue blazer, Jamie glanced in her direction.

"Are ye callin' a car? It'll take ages out here, especially tonight. We can drive ye home, if ye like. Seems much more practical, is all," he added the last part quickly, and as Claire looked at the wait time of 40-50 minutes, she realized with a touch of discomfort that he was right. She didn't particularly want to spend the thirty minute drive back into town with him, especially after the events of the night, but she didn't want to wait an hour for a car to arrive either. When the girls chimed in and insisted that she drive with them, as usual she couldn't say no, and found herself strapped into the front seat of Jamie's car as they drove off down the darkened road back toward town. 

The steady movement of the car lulled the children quickly to sleep, and the soft music blaring from the radio was the only sound. Though Claire could barely make it out, she heard enough to know it was children's music—currently some refrain about a _Bananaphone_. She found her eyes drawn down to Jamie's hand. It looked nice like that, resting casually over the gear shift, veins and tendons standing out beneath his skin, and she had half a mind to reach out and set hers atop it. Apparently able to feel her staring, Jamie glanced over and smiled softly at her, though it was brimming with melancholy. 

"I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds earlier, I didn't—"

"Please don't," Claire cut him off before he could finish, her heart knotted and sinking into her stomach. Jamie nodded, his lips pursed tight as he looked out over the road ahead. They passed the rest of the ride in tense silence, and eventually Jamie turned the station to NPR and turned the volume up just enough to mask the void between them. 

Nora woke up almost as soon as Jamie cut the engine, and mumbled something a touch whiney about wanting Claire to put them to bed. Her protestations woke her sister, who unsurprisingly took the same stance, and Claire acquiesced, lifting the smaller of the two gently from her carseat. Fiona's head lolled against her shoulder as she followed Jamie up the dark stairway to their room, and try as her might she came up short of breath as they laid the children down in their beds. Her inability to say no to the Fraser girls had already gotten her into plenty of trouble, but this moment in particular felt disconcertingly intimate as she tiptoed toward the doorway behind Jamie. 

When he didn't bother to put Nora in pajamas Claire followed suit and laid Fiona down in her bed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. 

"We need a story," Fiona murmured just as Jamie's hand reached the handle, and Claire was both charmed that, even though she was already half asleep, she still insisted on such a thing, and worried that this kept dragging on. The longer she was near him the more it hurt, the more she ached to break her promise that she would let him get on with his life and bury herself in his comfort. 

"One story; what would ye like to read?" Jamie asked, bumping into Claire as he turned back. Her sharp intake of breath was reminiscent of the hours they'd spent alone, in his room, just down the hall, and he fisted his hand at his side to keep from pulling her back to him. 

"Claire," Nora mumbled as she swung her legs over the side of her bed and went to their bookshelf with Fiona trailing behind. 

"Goodnight Daddy, love you," the girls chorused, clearly a dismissal, and with a look in her direction to ensure that she was alright with this, Jamie said his goodnights and turned back to the door.

"Don't wait up," Claire said as he left, far more cutting than she'd intended. 

They made their selection, _Iggy Peck and the Mysterious Mansion_ , a book Claire herself had given them, and they climbed happily up in her lap, nuzzling into her embrace as she began to read. 

**C** laire was entirely unaware that she'd fallen asleep until she felt a hand on her shoulder gentling her awake, and Jamie's soft Scottish burr broke through her hazy mind enough for her eyes to pop open. He shushed her, hoping he hadn't startled her, and reached to turn off the lamp behind her before he lifted Nora carefully off of her lap.

"Ye fell asleep," he told her softly, the tenderness in his tone overwhelming her sleepy senses as she stood carefully and brought Fiona back to bed. She tucked the girl in quickly and walked out of the room, eager to return to her own home, leaving Jamie behind at Nora's bedside. But when she reached the hallway she found she could no longer move, rooted to the spot outside their bedroom door with her heart pounding against her ribcage. _Go_ , she urged herself, _lift up your feet, walk down the stairs and leave, Claire._ She knew that if she saw him it would be too much. The way he had looked at her in the rocking chair, his daughters curled up against her chest with the book forgotten on the floor, was enough to bring her to tears, but even a glance more would have the resolve she'd been painstakingly building within her heart crumbling, like bits of a cliff breaking off to fall into the water below.

_Splash, splash, splash._

Even as she saw the door handle turn, and Jamie emerged silently, she couldn't bring herself to take even a step. She knew he hadn't seen her, as he'd turned immediately to pull the door shut behind him, turning the handle just so in order to avoid the click of it closing—she still had time, she could slip down the stairs and avoid whatever was about to happen, but her feet were like lead. 

"Sassenach." His voice was barely above a whisper, and he was clearly surprised to find her standing there. She held his gaze for a long, quiet moment and swallowed hard before she spoke. 

"I can't do that again, Jamie," she managed on a quivering breath. She could see that he was about to speak and willed herself to continue uninterrupted. "I—I _love_ your daughters, but...it always hurts, all the time, but I _that—_ I can't bear again."

Jamie looked at her gravely, his heart aching for the woman before him. She looked like a wisp, with watery eyes and tight lips that betrayed a growing tremble. In all the months and all the _ways_ he had known her, he had never seen her look so fragile before, not even on the night she left him, as though even a breath could send her flying. She looked well and truly broken, and it took everything in him not to close the distance between them and hold her. He would have done anything, _anything_ , if it meant he never had to see her look like that again. When she didn't say anything he inched forward, just slightly, so as not to spook her, as he did with the horses. She didn't move, and he took another minuscule step. 

"Please, Claire, it tears at my heart tae see ye so. Talk tae me, mo nighean donn."

"Please don't call me that," she uttered, her voice breaking, almost as if to say _please, don't remind me of what I've lost,_ and one fat, crystalline tear escaped and slid down her cheek. It was followed by another, and another until they were falling freely, and she quickly realized that wiping at them wasn't much help so she gave up, wrapping her arms tight around her shaking body. "It just—it just makes this all so much harder."

"Makes what harder?" Jamie pleaded, trying to keep his voice soft so as not to wake his daughters. 

"This! _That_...seeing you, and being around you, and watching you with the girls and your family and knowing that I can't ever have you, that I'll never be a part of that. I just have to—to _sit,_ and _watch_ , and pretend like my heart isn't shattering in my chest, Jamie, I can't—I can't keep doing it," she cried, hiccuping as she fought for breath through the sobs.

She didn't remember either of them moving, didn't remember getting so close to him, but when she looked up with bleary eyes she found Jamie's face just inches from hers and she knew then that she had lost. The hurt in his eyes only served to make it all the more painful, the desperate crease of his brow begging to be soothed with her lips or the soft pad of her thumb. She loved him; _God_ how she loved him, and _she_ had made him hurt like this. 

"I should go," she managed through her tears, and finally she found it within herself to move. She turned and fled quickly as she could down the stairs but Jamie was faster, yet somehow quieter, and caught her before she could reach the front door. One large hand wrapped around her upper arm and she found herself tugged roughly back to him, their bodies pressed together with only their arms separating them. Something in the air changed, and flying between the despair, the hurt and the anger, were the sparks, the golden flecks of light that had started this whole mess. 

" _Ye_ decided ye didn't want me, no' the other way around. I got _no_ say in it. And I breaks me tae see ye hurtin' but I canna help but wonder why yer so broken up about it when that's what _ye_ wanted," Jamie spat, weeks of confusion and unanswered questions flaring as he looked down at her. Even dripping with restraint as it was, his voice was dangerous, and he was so close Claire could feel his breath against her face. But when she tried to break free he only grasped her harder, pulled her closer. "I havena' and willna' love a woman like I do ye again in all my life, that much I know tae be true, and I would've done _far_ worse than adultery tae have ye. D'ye think it doesna' pain me just as much tae have ye here? Tae watch ye go home to _Frank_ , dreamin' about him lyin' with ye', takin' yer body, tae ken that I had a chance tae make ye mine and somehow I fecked it up and I'll have tae live the rest of my life wi' so much of my heart missin'? And seein' ye tonight— _Christ,_ Claire—with wee Michael in yer arms and then sleepin' in the chair with the lasses—I _wanted_ that, Claire, with _ye_ ; I still do, and knowin' I'll never have it is damn near enough to kill me." Jamie's chest was heaving by the time he finished, heat rolling off his body in waves as he glared at Claire, though she could see the deep sadness hiding poorly, just below. 

"Oh, Jamie...you didn't fuck it up," she murmured, so quietly he almost couldn't make out what she'd said. His grip on her arm loosened considerably as he came back himself, and though he worried that he'd left marks he didn't let her go entirely.

"Then why did ye leave?" Jamie asked, his voice like she'd never heard it before. All the strength, all the pride was gone. He was laid bare before her, every ounce of pain that _she_ had caused him on display. Claire wanted nothing more than to reach and up and kiss him, to assuage the hurt in the both of them, but she couldn't. She had to make him see, to understand why he shouldn't waste those feelings on her. It would be better that way.

"I—Jocasta forced me to."

"She—the feckin' besom. What the hell did she—"

"And she was right, Jamie," Claire spoke over him, desperate for this all to make sense to him so that he would no longer be so hurt. "I'm not—I don't deserve you, and you _certainly_ don't deserve to be with a cheat, and a liar. What kind of role model would I be to your girls, really? You deserve someone _good_ , as good as you. I'm not that person. I—I know I hurt you and that broke my heart, but...it's for the best, Jamie, for you, you _have_ to know that. Please don't be angry with her for this—she cares about you. She wants the best for you, and so—so do I. _That's not me_."

Jamie's lips came down on hers with a crushing force as he dropped her arm to pull her to him, desperate hands grasping her in a tight embrace fueled by weeks of pent up confusion and desire and heartache. Lost to the overwhelming feeling of their bodies pressed together and his lips on hers, Claire kissed him back for just a moment before she caught herself and managed to wriggle free from his embrace.

"Jamie—"

"I'll caution ye no' tae speak about the woman I love that way," he said, his voice low and husky in his chest. "That person _is_ ye, Claire, I've never been so certain of something in my life."

He'd said it, _twice,_ those words that she'd only ever heard from the Jamie in her dreams, but she couldn't let that break her down. He would understand, she hoped, someday, that she was doing this _for_ him, not to hurt him. 

"Jamie you don't— _love_ me, that's..." but she trailed off, unable to finish, the part of her that wanted him to mean it more than she'd ever wanted anything winning out as his bright blue eyes fixed upon hers.

"Look me in the eyes, and tell me ye don't love me, too, and I'll be done. I'll never breathe a word of it again," he demanded, slow and intentional.

Claire wanted desperately to tear her eyes away but found she couldn't, almost as if he wouldn't let her. She was drowning with no life raft in sight, nothing to cling to but him. What she said now would dictate the direction of the rest of her life—and Jamie's. But she couldn't look him in the eye and lie to him, couldn't pass off what she felt for him as anything less than what it was. He deserved more than that. She thought of all the times Jamie had looked at her in the flash of a second, always brimming with love and adoration and and desire and tenderness. If a man like him could look at her like that, love her as he said he did, maybe she deserved it, too. 

"I can't do that."

Jamie took a step closer and she didn't move, didn't breathe, just stared at him as he approached, step by slow step, until again he was standing just inches from her.

"If ye mean that, Claire, I canna go back. I canna lose ye again, or share ye wi' another man. I ken it may take time, and it may no' be easy, but I'll no' settle for anythin' less than havin' ye for the rest of my life." His voice shook as he spoke, and Claire laid a hand over his heart. It raced beneath her palm, slamming against his ribcage as he swallowed hard. 

"I mean it, Jamie." She spoke softly, her trembling hand finding its way from his chest to his jaw. Jamie reached up and placed his own over it, just as she'd yearned to do with him in the car, and nuzzled into her touch while his other hand snaked around to rest on the small of her back so he could close what little distance remained between them. "I love you," Claire added, a schoolgirl kind of feeling bubbling up in her at the sheer joy of saying it aloud. "I _love_ you, Jamie." Suddenly the crease in his forehead wasn't so deep anymore, and the tightness in his body began to recede as she smoothed a hand up his arm to rest just below his shoulder. "Will you _please_ kiss me?"

Jamie huffed out a half laugh, half sob, and brought his hand to rest on the back of her head as he bent to press his lips to hers. He tasted of whiskey and chocolate oranges and Claire could still feel his smile. Cliche as it was, she could only name the feeling in her stomach butterflies as his his hand fisted in her hair, tugging back and forcing her mouth to open wider to him. What the kiss lacked in gentleness, which neither was complaining about, it made up for with the soul-stirring kind of tenderness that Claire had lain awake night after night trying to reimagine, and she had to wrap her arms around his neck to keep herself steady as the forced of him dipped her further and further backward. 

She was dizzy, delirious almost, but all she cared about was his lips on hers, his tongue deep in her mouth and his hand on her back, pressing her against his growing hardness. When he made to kiss his way down her neck she managed to duck her head and catch his lips once more, not yet content to let the feeling go even as she became aware of the growing need between her own legs. Jamie would attend to it well, in time, she knew; but for now she could have kissed him for another hour and been completely satisfied. He didn't seem inclined to agree though, pulling back again with a tighter hold on her hair so that this time, as he sucked greedily at the spot just below her earlobe that made her hips roll against his and her breath come quick, she couldn't move. 

"You're going to get us caught," she panted as his lips descended dangerously down the v-neck of her dress, even as she pressed her chest forward into him. "If you're not careful I'll have to take you right here."

"I'll be doin' the takin' tonight, Sassenach," he growled, though he did nuzzle his way back up her neck, and Claire began walking him backward towards the stairs as his lips found hers once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you think up a scene and then you have to fashion a whole plot around it just so you get to write that scene? That confrontation was it for me, it was the first thing I thought in detail about and the second thing I wrote for this fic. It changed a good bit as I wrote it into the chapter, but I hope it's effective (and I may or may not have cried multiple times while writing it). 
> 
> Bonus Quiz - Can anybody name the song Rogers and Hammerstein song Claire is thinking of as they head into Thanksgiving? It's a wee hint at a new fic I've got in the works...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all simply blow me away with your comments, kudos and messages. Your patience with me and your love for this story and these characters is so touching, I hope this chapter does not disappoint. The second half hasn't been beta'd, so if there are any spelling or grammatical errors, those are mine. I edited it a few times but some might have slipped through, so I'll probably go back again at some point and try to clean up anything I missed. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading, and without further ado, I give you, a whole lot of sweet sweet love.

**J** amie hoisted her up into his arms and Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, though his ravishment didn't cease even as he maneuvered them up the dimly lit staircase, his growing stubble rasping pleasantly against the sensitive skin of her neck. A particularly sharp inhale turned into a whine as they neared the top of the stairs and Jamie stopped, pulling back to fix her with a playfully scolding look.

"Will ye quiet yer wee noises for _just_ a moment, Sassenach? I dinna think ye want tae be interrupted by either of the wee lassies sleepin' in there, do ye?" he teased, cocking his head toward their closed door.

"I do not make _wee noises_ ," Claire protested, fighting a smirk as he started to walk again. He didn't return to his ministrations as he carried her down the hallway and she felt the loss acutely, strands of hair getting caught in the wetness he'd left on her neck, but she knew the wait to make it to his room would be well worth it.

"Aye, ye do," Jamie countered matter of factly. 

"I do not!"

" _Shh,_ " he admonished with a glint in his eye as they passed the door to the girl's bedroom. "Let me get ye tae bed and we'll see what kind of wee noises ye _dinna_ make, hmm?"

Claire thumped him on the back, though she blushed hot and pink at his comments. Frank had never hesitated to let her know when she was being _too much_ in bed—too loud, too needy, too eager, asking for things too far outside what he deemed normal. It was _unbecoming of a lady her age_ , or something archaic and insulting like that, to want sex the way she did. When Jamie closed the door behind them, though, and set her on her feet after a slow, controlled slide down his body that left her more than a little wobbly, she thought it was quite possible she'd never think of Frank again. He steadied her with a firm grip on her waist, subconsciously swiping his tongue across his bottom lip, and Claire couldn't help but sigh, her hands smoothing down his neck and over his broad shoulders before they came to rest on his upper arms. Even in the soft light coming from the bedside lamps, she could see that his pupils were blown so wide as to almost eviscerate the bright ocean of blue that she so loved, but as he began to run the tip of his nose from brow to temple to jaw, Claire felt her stomach winding itself into knots. 

It was so tender, so innocently intimate that Claire lost her breath for a moment, but she couldn't push away the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was asking far too much of him. How could he take her back so willingly after the hurt she had caused? Being in love didn't simply erase that, it couldn't possibly be that easy. What if, come the sober light of morning, Jamie realized he'd made a mistake, that he couldn't trust a woman like her with his heart, and she lost him all over again? That would be too much to take, knowing that she would be forever burned as a regret in his mind—not even one more night together would be worth it. 

Jamie leaned in to kiss her again but fear won out with his lips only a hairsbreadth from hers and she stopped him, pulling back and placing two firm hands against his chest.

"Can you ever forgive me? Truly?"

Jamie engulfed her before she could even finish speaking, sheltering her with his body from the fear that refused to relent even in the face of the love he so clearly bore for her. He was offering her a wordless promise of security, and in spite of the doubts that she still harbored, Claire took it, locking her arms behind his back and inhaling the quintessentially _Jamie_ scent that she had so sorely missed. His lips caressed the top of her head as he murmured soft Gaelic to her—it was almost as if he'd read her mind to give her exactly what she needed in that vulnerable moment, to bring her back to reality, safe with him. He nuzzled her curls for a lingering moment before he crooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted it gently from his chest to look at her.

{SUGGESTED MUSICAL PAIRING: THIS FEELING BY THE ALABAMA SHAKES}

"I've already forgiven everything ye've ever done, and everything ye will do, the moment I fell in love wi' ye," he whispered, his voice brimming with emotion that mirrored the unadulterated love shining in his eyes. Selfishly, he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand to see Claire this way, but more than that he needed her to understand, for her own sake, that he meant everything he said from the very depths of his soul. "There isn't a thing in this world that could make me love ye any less, Claire."

She bloomed under his gaze, her heart clenched tight in her chest as she realized what an utter fool she would be not to believe him. This was a man just as desperately in love as she was, baring himself to her, _for_ her, because she'd dared to give him hope after weeks darkened by their separation. Her world was so much brighter with him in it, and despite everything that had passed between them, she could feel in the fierceness of his arms around her that she brought that same light to him. She'd be a devil to take it away again.

Infused with a newfound courage and the bone deep need to feel his skin pressed against hers, Claire pushed his suit jacked from his shoulders and he shimmied it down the rest of the way, his hands seeking her again the moment it was discarded. He wove his fingers into her curls as she leaned upward to kiss him, their lips meeting in a frenzied clash that left little room for breath. She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, though an insistent tug at the roots of her hair stole her attention momentarily as Jamie revealed to himself the long column of her neck.

Her skin there was so pale it was nearly translucent, the delicate blue of her veins like watercolor just beneath. As he trailed his lips and tongue over her, her throat jumping and tensing as she swallowed the noises that his treatment inspired, he imagined that delicate and deliciously sensitive part of her covered in purple-red splotches, a physical remnant of the way he possessed her. He wouldn't, not tonight, not with Frank coming back to town so soon, but someday. The thought made his cock twitch, blood rushing there as Claire began to rub herself against him.

"Turn around." His voice was soft but it was not a request, and he left off with one final tug of his teeth below her earlobe before he guided her by the hips to do just that. He took the opportunity to finish what she'd started with his shirt and whipped it off as quickly as he could, his body crying out for her immediately as they lost contact for the first time in several minutes. His cock strained to feel her grinding again, but getting her out of that damn dress would be well worth the loss. One deft hand pulled down the zipper and Claire shrugged off the fabric off, letting it float down around her feet before she stepped out of it. Jamie had never before thought about shoulders, or that fact that anyone could have especially attractive ones, but even that minute detail of her was like a sculpture. Her bones pressed against her flesh creating soft, smooth mountains—when he had more time, when he wasn't spurred on by the desperation of weeks apart, he would play cartographer, charting each hill and valley of her until he was certain he'd never again be able to forget each detail.

Claire looked down at herself as she turned back to him, and her confidence faltered once more when she was reminded of what she'd chosen to wear beneath her dress that night: a plain tan bra, one she'd owned far longer than was recommended, and a ratty light pink thong. She started to stammer out an apology but Jamie silenced her with a quick but meaningful peck to the lips, trailing his fingertips down the gooseflesh that covered her arms as he spoke. 

"I love ye all dressed up for me, but God, I love ye even more like this," he assured her, linking their hands as he began to walk her backwards towards the bed. 

"How did I find such an exquisite man?" she wondered aloud, squeezing tight before she disentangled their fingers and went for his trousers. She had him undone in moments, shivering at the clank of belt buckle against the floor. Her chest heaved, and she flicked her eyes up to meet his with an open mouthed grin as she cupped him through the shiny black fabric of his briefs with one small hand. Jamie groaned and rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming quick as he looked down to watch her touch him. He strained against the fabric but Claire took her sweet time teasing before she finally showed a little mercy, easing the band of his briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free. She seemed content to leave it at that but Jamie had other ideas. He pulled the briefs down his legs and tossed them aside, swelling with pride at the needy little breath that escaped Claire's lips when he stood naked before her. She dropped down to take him in her mouth but Jamie caught her by the arm before her knees could even touch the floor, pulling her back to him.

Claire huffed, clearly frustrated at his diversion of her plans, and was thus caught completely off guard when he pushed her by the shoulders just hard enough that she landed with a whoop of surprise on his deep blue-green comforter. 

"I'm through waitin'," he murmured hotly, observing with hooded eyes as she sat up, wriggled out of her knickers and released the clasp of her bra. Jamie crawled up onto the bed after her, nudging her legs apart with his knees as he followed her up toward the headboard. He dragged his gaze slowly down the length of her body as she settled against the pillows, over her pebbled nipples and the soft skin of her stomach, and finally to the apex of her thighs, spread open and glistening. 

The weight of him on the bed, hovering on his hands and knees over her, was familiar enough to feel like home but still new enough to send a thrill rippling through Claire's body, made only more intense by the way he stared at her. She squirmed beneath him, made restless by the throbbing between her legs, and ran her hands up his well muscled arms, grasping at his shoulders in a failed attempt to pull him down atop her. 

"Yer ripe as a peach, Sassenach," he hummed, low and lusty, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he drew one finger through her slit, slicking it with her wetness to ghost over her throbbing clit. "And all for me." 

" _All_ for you," Claire echoed breathlessly, pushing her hips into his teasing touch. "Please, Jamie, I want you so badly." She wasn't above begging, not with his cock standing hard and proud, just out of reach, and she almost delirious with the want of him. "Will you have me?" 

The question dripped with honeyed suggestion and Jamie reveled in that tone, dark and sultry. He loved every iteration of this woman, everything she had ever been and everything she ever would be, but the Claire who took him to bed was something otherworldly. She was as needy as she was generous, vivacious and unconcerned with anything but their pleasure, always so completely present with him. He wondered briefly if that would ever change, if it would be different once their lovemaking was no longer a novelty, but as he fisted his cock and sheathed himself inside her he knew without a sliver of doubt that they would burn this way til the end of time.

Claire cried out his name at the welcome stretch, only barely sating the ache, and even with stars bursting behind her eyes she managed to keep them open and fixed on Jamie's. She couldn't miss a moment of this, of _him_ , not after so many nights alone with only the smoldering memories. 

"Och, I'll _have_ ye," Jamie responded darkly, bracing his hands on either side of her head so he could lower herself over her as he began the slow thrusting of his hips. "I'll bury myself so deep in ye ye canna take any more."

Claire gasped at that, grabbing him by the curls and pulling him down so his lips could swallow up every last incoherent moan he was forcing from her. She devoured him fervently, sucking roughly on his bottom lip until he bit hard enough to make her release.

"You feel—so good," she panted as quietly as she could manage while Jamie made good on his promise, thrusting hard and deep, claiming every last inch of her for himself. Claire wound herself around him, her legs locking behind his back as she found purchase with her nails digging into his shoulders. 

"Aye," Jamie groaned in agreement, already dangerously close to losing himself. He'd dedicated so many hours to the remembrance of what it was to make love to her, trying to conjure the image of her laid out beneath him, the whiskey rimmed blackness of her eyes and the feel of her quim, tight and slick around him, but nothing could ever compare to the real thing, to _Claire_ , hot and vital in his arms, the essence of her invading his every sense. She was like a drug, one he would all too willingly go bankrupt for. How he had ever convinced himself that he could live without her, he didn't know. 

Claire could see in his eyes that Jamie had gone somewhere far away in his mind, though his body was still _very much_ present with her, and she took advantage of it to roll them over, still joined, and settle herself astride his hips. Possessive annoyance flashed in his eyes— _he_ wanted to be the one doing the taking tonight, she knew—but it was quickly replaced with the familiar desire that looked so succulent on him when his gaze lowered to the place of their joining. Feeling especially wicked, Claire reached back and braced herself on his legs, leaning back and spreading her legs wider to give him a better view. Jamie's mouth dropped open as he watched her ride him, mesmerized by the way she swallowed him over and over. 

"How do we look?" Claire asked huskily, her own hooded eyes trained on his face to drink in his lust addled reactions. 

A groan was his only only answer, and Claire would have stayed like that til he spent himself just to watch the unrestrained hunger his face were it not for the growing crick in her lower back. She sat up again, taking him deeper and circling her hips in a figure eight that had his eyes rolling back in his head. No longer satisfied with so few points of contact between them, pleasurable as they were, she draped herself over him, nipples puckering as they dragged across the springy russet hairs that dusted his chest. Jamie stretched up to meet her lips as his hands found their way to her hips, guiding their ceaseless rolling as he lost himself to her soft, breathy noises and the feeling of her pressing him into the mattress. 

Though this new angle was shallower, it also meant that, with each thrust of Claire's hips, her clit rubbed against his pelvis, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck as she felt those first telltale tremors of orgasm low in her belly. He tasted of salt and sweat as she fastened her lips there, flicking her tongue against his skin and sucking hard as her body tensed above him.

"Look at me," he urged, wrapping his arms around her back and holding her tight to him when his balls drew close to his body. "Look at me while we burn together, Sassenach."

Claire did as she was bid, lifting her head and forcing her eyes open to watch him come apart. Jamie kissed her just in time to swallow the cry that left her lips when she let go, hurtling through searing white space and clenching around him as spilled himself inside her in hot, spurting ropes. She took up his name as a chant, quiet yet trenchant, as she rode out her pleasure, planting her hands on her chest and pushing herself up to rub herself shamelessly against him. Jamie was entranced by the sight, Claire with her head bowed and her fingers flexing against his pectorals, completely lost in the abyss and so beautiful he could feel his heart swelling in his chest. Finally, she began to float back down to earth, her body relaxing as she collapsed in a heap on his chest, sticky with sweat and panting to catch her breath.

She would have been more than  satisfied to bury herself in his arms and bask in the glow of their togetherness, but Jamie had other ideas. He wanted to see her lose herself to his touch again, feel the way she shook and clung to him. He reached between them, entreating her, "One more for me, Sassenach?" as he drew two fingers through her wetness and rubbed them in soft circles against her, just the way she liked. She had never shied away from asking for what she wanted or telling him what she liked, and he had committed each of those delicious details to memory with the seriousness of a priest studying scripture.

Claire jerked at the unexpected stimulation but answered with an affirmative nod, her cheeks pinking prettily at her own brazenness. She was already singing out those little whines that drove him mad as Jamie rolled her off of him, never breaking contact as he settled tight against her on his side and propped himself up on one elbow to watch her. 

"More," she choked out, her hips bucking of their own accord against the insistent press of his fingers. Unable to deny her anything, Jamie rubbed tighter, harder circles against her until her whole body began to tremble and she tucked her face against his chest, grasping at his shoulders as he pushed her over the edge once again. She bit her lip so hard she tasted iron, her thighs a vice grip around his hand as she gasped and mewled. When they fell slack once again Jamie started to rub her in featherlight strokes but she reached one heavy hand down to pull his away, having had more than enough for the time being. 

It felt as though she was moving through molasses, but still she managed to push Jamie onto his back and curl up against his chest, one leg slung over his hip as she wiggled herself closer and closer into his arms. Jamie, who unlike her had had a chance to catch his breath, chuckled, low and lazy, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Yer like a wee shrimp," he murmured, though his arm around her tightened to keep her exactly where she was.

It was then that she felt the lump in her throat and the hot sting of tears, and she nuzzled her cheek against his chest, her thumb smoothing tenderly over his clavicle. 

"I just can't get enough of you," she answered, her voice pinched as she tried to conceal the fact that she was crying.

But Jamie would have none of it, and took his hand off her hip to cup her cheek in a bid for her to look at him. Never again would he allow her to secret herself away from him, knowing what it had very nearly cost them. 

"I'm not—I'm not upset, I promise, I'm so— _happy_ , and—"

"Ye get emotional after sex," Jamie answered for her, pressing a chaste kiss to her trembling lips before he added, "Ye cried the first time we were together, too."

"I did." She couldn't help the soft smile that graced her lips at that sweet memory; both yesterday and lifetimes ago. "Maybe I loved you even then," she mused softly, sniffling and wiping beneath her eyes with the thumb and middle finger of her outside hand before letting it rest against his chest again.

"Perhaps ye did. I ken I loved _ye_ that night."

He passed it off so casually that Claire was torn between the fluttering sensation in her gut and the desire to smack him for offering that kind of information as if it were nothing.

"You did?" she asked, her brows knit together just slightly as she lifted her head and fixed her eyes on him, resting her chin on his chest.

"Aye."

The tips of his ears were a deep red as he smiled softly and  tucked a curl behind her ear, but he didn't say anything more.

"How did you—you hardly..."

"I _wanted_ ye from the moment I laid eyes on ye. Thought ye were the most strikingly beautiful thing I'd ever seen—still do, mind ye—but I kent I loved ye that night on yer porch, wi' the champagne bottle."

Claire snickered, shaking her head as she leaned forward to kiss him, long and slow. 

"You just wanted to fuck me," she replied with a smirk when she pulled back, her brows arched almost in challenge. Despite the genuine shine in his eyes, the honest knit of his brow, Claire found it difficult to fathom, but the lovesick teenager who'd apparently taken up residence in her heart when Jamie took up his next door was eager to be proven wrong. 

"Oh I did, _badly._ I'd have—Christ, that pink robe...but more than that, I wanted tae hold ye in my arms and make sure ye never looked so upset again in yer life. Ye told me about Frank, what had happened, and I—I just couldna believe that anyone with a woman like ye waitin' at home would no' be out of the office the second the clock struck five. And then I had tae do a little reckonin' wi' just how often the thought of comin' home tae ye had crossed my mind and...ye held my hand, and sat so close I could feel ye pressed up against me, soft and wee...and I missed yer curls sae much I could feel it in my wame...I just—I _loved_ ye, and that was that."

" _Jamie_ ," she whispered when he'd finished, sniffling a little as she ghosted her hand over his hair and face before it came to rest tenderly on his cheek. "I never...really?"

"Aye," Jamie answered, sighing as she wiggled up just enough to kiss him. "Wi' my whole heart. I never stopped."

"I didn't either," Claire breathed urgently, "not for a moment." 

Propping herself up on an elbow, she peppered his face with kisses, her thumb caressing the stubble along his jaw all the while. 

"I remembered what ye said," Jamie murmured after a moment, "about movin' _with_ grief, no' _through_ it, when we were apart. And I tried so hard, but...God, I could never seem tae do it."

"You should never have felt that grief in the first place," Claire answered when the pang in her chest had subsided. She spoke so softly he almost couldn't hear her. "Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life, Jamie, I'd give anything to take it back. Jocasta did what she did but I should never have—I let her get to me and I almost lost you and—I'm so, so sorry."

"Dinna fash, yer here now," Jamie murmured, pulling her back down to rest on his chest. His arms verged on crushing but Claire only buried herself deeper into the embrace, feeling only a touch of guilt that Jamie was comforting her for what _she_ had done to _him._ "Jocasta kens well how tae manipulate people. Ye only did what ye thought you had to, what she _convinced_ ye was right. And ye hurt too, Claire, twas plain as day. Broke my heart, seein' ye so." He shimmed down the bed and cupped her face in both hands, staring at her intently until she met his gaze. "Yer not tae blame, Claire, and I dinna blame ye."

The room went quiet for a long time, the two of them far too content comforting and being comforted to do anything else. When Jamie resumed his aimless stroking of her body, though, and his fingertips ghosted over her ribcage, he was taken aback by just how easily discernible they were beneath her skin. In their weeks apart, he had worried about her _all_ the time, but tonight, somewhere in the heat of the moment, it had been lost to his mind. With lust no longer clouding his mind so completely, Jamie recognized that it was lost past time to take care of her the way he had planned to, if she ever returned to him.

"Let's fix ye somethin' tae eat, mo sorcha. Ye hardly touched yer dinner tonight."

Jamie attempted to disentangle himself from her but Claire only clung harder, her leg tightening over his hips as she buried her face in his neck and pressed her lips there.

"I'd like to stay exactly as I am, thank you," she replied, and he could feel her lazy, sated smile against his skin.

Her lips sent a tingle through his body, and Jamie was tempted to give in and stay there, wrapped up with the woman he loved. He could go on living in that moment for hours, relishing the feeling of her naked body pressed against his, the coarse hairs on her mound tickling his hip when she shifted, her breath against his skin. But there was a lifetime for that, years and years sprawling before them to be spent together. It would be a disservice to this precious, precious person to stay there with her in his arms, even if that was what she wanted. 

"Come on, lass, up ye go," he said a little more insistently, and began the process of wriggling out from under her hold. "I'll no' have ye all skin and bones. I like ye nice and supple." He winked and swatted her on the arse, which proved to be just enough of a distraction to allow him to slip out of bed. Claire's eyes followed him with a playful glare as he went to the dresser to fish out something to wear, tossing his blue button up in her direction on the way. She brought it to her nose and inhaled, but made no further move to go anywhere.

"Meet me downstairs," he said, throwing a final dazzling smile over his shoulder before he disappeared into the hallway. 

**C** laire snuck quietly as she could down the stairs, stopping short when Jamie came into view around the corner and she realized he hadn't heard her coming. He had incredibly keen senses, some Highlander remnant built into his very marrow, so it wasn't often that she got the opportunity to observe him without his knowledge. Tonight, it was made all the more sweet by the healing that had already taken place, and the knowledge that they belonged to each other completely. He moved easily about the kitchen, setting a pot to boil and sprinkling herbs and basil leaves over a bowl of what she figured was crushed tomatoes, for pasta sauce. 

_Of course he cooks._

She should have known, what with him being a single father, but watching his effortless work had a gooey warmth spreading through her chest. He'd never cooked her a meal before. He'd never taken her on a date, either, or held her hand as they strolled down some cobblestone side street, or been introduced to anyone as her boyfriend. Was that what he was? It seemed far too trivial a term for what was between them. He couldn't be her _anything_ , not officially, not yet. Still, she couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to present him to the world that way—her _boyfriend,_ her _fiancée,_ her _husband_. Her heart itself seemed a much more fitting designation. 

"Are you sure we won't wake the girls?" she murmured softly as she stepped into the dim overhead light of the kitchen. 

Jamie startled a little and his head snapped in her direction. Almost as if in slow motion, she watched his pupils grow big and inky as he dragged his eyes from her face, all the way down her legs, and back up. 

" _Ah dhia,_ " he groaned, his breath hitching in his chest when Claire pushed one knee in front of the other and jutted her hip out, topping it off with pursed lips set in a cheeky smirk.

"What, this?" she teased, with flirtation in the raise of her brows and the cocky glint in her eye. "You knew just what you were getting yourself into."

Jamie crossed the floor in two long, silent strides and grasped her by the hips, his eyes still stuck on her small frame drowning in his messily buttoned shirt. 

"I didn't realize just how gorgeous ye'd look til I saw it, though," he uttered, hoisting her up onto the counter island as though she weighed nothing at all. He sipped one button from its hole, then the next, and the next, and winked as he added, "Yer buttons are a wee bit sloppy, better fix them." Somewhere in the back of her mind Claire surmised it probably wasn't wise to let this go much further, but then Jamie pulled the fabric aside just enough to reveal the swell of her breast and no more, and licked a long, hot stripe from its bottom to her clavicle, and responsibility was all but forgotten. She arched her back, pressing her chest out, and Jamie devoured her, eyes shut as he closed his mouth over her covered nipple and sucked. Claire gasped, threading her fingers through his curls to hold him there, his pleasured groans muffled by fabric and the firm give of her skin. She was following the gentle tugs of his teeth when she heard the hiss, and her eyes popped open to search the kitchen for the source of the noise. They landed on the frothy white bubbles sloshing over the edge of the pot to meet the burning hot stovetop, but Jamie didn't seem to notice.

"Your water's boiling over," she panted, her voice low and husky with renewed desire. He raised his head somewhat reluctantly and pressed a quick kiss to her waiting lips before he hurried off to turn down the heat. As Claire re-buttoned the shirt, careful that each button made it into the proper hole, Jamie broke a handful of spaghetti noodles in half and dropped them in the pot, pushing with a spatula at the ones that stuck out over the sides before he strode to the refrigerator. 

Watching hime move, Claire felt the familiar pull just to be near him, and she slipped off the counter with a squeak and a dull thud, followed his path across the floor and wrapped her arms around his middle as he dug through the fridge. 

"What are you searching for?" she asked, the words almost lost as she rested her forehead between his shoulder blades. 

"Och, I've found her," Jamie replied, looking back at her with a sparkle in his bright blue eyes.

"Cheeky."

Still, Claire couldn't help but smile, her tongue darting out to lick the corner of her lip as she watched him turn back. He located the item a moment later, and held out a bottle of champagne for her to see as he stepped them both back and closed the doors with his free hand. 

"Can I give ye a job?" he asked, slipping out of her arms to check on the noodles. Claire was beside him again in an instant, leaning against the counter next to the stove.

"What's my reward?" she asked suggestively, thrusting her chest out and circling a lazy fingertip around the wet mark he'd left on the shirt. She mewled a little at the touch and Jamie felt his cock twitch against his thigh wish a slight rush of blood. 

"Wee-noise-maker's choice," he smirked, his eyes locked on her hand as she continued to pinch and swirl until her nipple stood out clearly against the fabric. "Now pop that champagne and pour us both a glass, will ye?"

"Mmm, I like that answer," Claire hummed, clearly pleased as she turned to carry out the task. She squeaked in surprise when Jamie reached out to smack her arse, imbuing her hips with an extra sway as she retrieved the bottle across the kitchen. When she disappeared onto the deck, Jamie felt a warm, familiar clench in his chest at the gesture. It was simple, but spoke volumes about the very part of her that had stolen his heart so quickly—she was so conscientious about his daughters, thinking of them just the way a mother did. A damn good one, at that. She didn't want to risk disturbing them with the cork popping, so she'd taken it outside. Watching her though the glass, he thought of her at the party, cradling wee Michael in her arms. He'd looked at her with such heartbreaking melancholy in that moment, mourning the fact that he would never get to see her with a bairn of her own, of _their_ own, aching in his very soul. It was difficult to believe that that had been the same night as this; the world had spun so fast on its axis since then that it was all he could do keep himself upright. 

Claire returned with the bottle and cork, none the wiser to what was running through his mind, and delivered his fizzing glass along with a kiss on the cheek and an arm slung low around his back. 

"I'll take my reward as soon as you're ready."

Her tone was dark and melodious, seduction itself as she pressed her body into his side and slipped her left hand beneath the waistband of his underwear to rest on the swell of his arse. Jamie kept his eyes trained on the food and his hand busy stirring the pot. 

"Will ye get me a sauce pan first?"

"I don't know where they are."

"Well ye'll have tae figure it out sooner or later."

"Oh, why is that?" 

"Because," Jamie replied rather matter of factly, plucking his champagne flute from the counter and taking a sip before he continued, "someday you're going tae live here, with me, and the wee ones. And this will be _our_ kitchen, and that upstairs will be _our_ bed, and _we'll_ grow a wee vegetable garden out back, and ye'll need tae ken where _we_ keep the pots and pans."

That was more than she had bargained for, and Claire found herself without a witty retort in sight—not that she really needed one. She'd never known someone who lived so wholeheartedly. He had opened himself to her in such a profound way, starting on the night he told her about Annelise, and he never stopped. Asking her to lay with him on their first night together, sending her that bouquet, confessing to her just how much her pulling away in its wake had frightened him. Even in the simple way he smiled at her from across the yard, he had been telling her how much he loved her, how badly he _wanted_ her, all along. After so many years of subconsciously protecting her heart, she thought perhaps she'd have to pull those unread Brené Brown books off the shelf to teach herself how to be the same way with him. She wouldn't settle for giving him anything less in return. 

That was for tomorrow, though, all the work it would take for their love to come to fruition the way it ought to. For now, Claire let herself revel in playing house.

"Alright then, where do _we_ keep the sauce pans?" she asked, the sentiment sending a little chill though her body. 

Jamie only turned to her and smirked, nodding silently. Sensing that he wasn't about to make this easy for her, Claire unwound herself from his side and took a long sip from her glass before setting to work. She scanned the kitchen, looking with a critical eye for the cabinets most likely to house such items. She wasn't against a little competition, and she wanted to get it on the first try just to show him up. But when she headed for a large double doored cabinet just beside the stove, Jamie tsked and shook his head. 

"Wee bit chilly," he informed her, leaning back against the island and watching her intently. 

"You're ridiculous."

She stood looked around, this time at the cabinetry set into the wall above the counter. _Colder._ They'd likely be close to the stove, but none of the cabinets looked right, so she focused her attention below the counter once more. She began to drift down toward the fridge, but that was getting colder, too. She turned back to Jamie with her hands on her hips, ready to lambast him for making her play such a foolish game, but then her eyes landed on the shiny silver knobs affixed to the cabinets beneath the island. _Warmer._ None on her end were even close to the right size or shape, so she began a slow journey back down the kitchen towards him, getting warmer each time. 

A few steps before she reached it, she noticed that Jamie was resting just in front of a large, rectangular, double doored cabinet, set directly across from the stove. Perfect for pots and pans. 

Games were always better when played with two, weren't they?

__ "Yer hot,"  he hummed when she stood before him, not touching though she was well into his personal space.

"You flatter me," she retorted with a knowing look. She bit her lip as she lowered herself onto her knees before him, her eyes wide and suggestive, locked on his. When she caught sight of his fingers flexing against the cold granite lip of the counter she knew she'd won, but she bat her eyelashes for extra measure before she spoke.

"Excuse me, I'd like to get in here."

"Get in where now? Ye'll have tae be more specific, lass."

"As much as I'd _love_ to take my reward right here, I hardly think it's fair to give it to me before I've finished my job, Jamie."

His name fell breathy from her lips and Jamie was tempted to abandon their meal altogether and let her have her wicked way with him. Claire enjoyed giving head, another magnificent little tidbit about her that he'd tucked away, so neither party was likely to be upset about it, but then she cocked her head to the side as if to tell him to scoot, and, as if under hypnosis, he obeyed.

"I don't like my pasta sauce cold," she explained with a saucy wink in his direction, and crouched back to pull open the cabinet, revealing two pull-out trays of shiny copper pots and pans. She retrieved a small sauce pan and handed it to him with a victorious smirk that earned her a pinch on the behind as Jamie set back to work. 

With the sauce set to warm on the stovetop and the noodles nearly cooked, Jamie turned his attention back to her, taking his glass off the counter and clinking it against hers before they each took a sip.

"Here's to lookin' at ye, Sassenach."

He smiled, but Claire nearly choked on her champagne and sputtered out a laugh. 

"That's a _remarkably_ terrible quote for the moment!" She set her glass back on the counter and wiped at the champagne on her chin with his shirtsleeve, looking at him with more than a little incredulity. 

"Why's that?" Jamie queried, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Well— _it's Casablanca_. Rick says it after he's convinced Ilsa that she ought to get on the plane with her _husband_ , whom she doesn't love, and leave him. It's heartbreaking, really. He loves her so much he can't bear to put her in harms way, and if she stays with him she'd be in danger. So he has no choice but to lose the woman he loves." She wrapped her arms around Jamie's neck and let her head rest on his chest with a sigh, content in the knowledge that she would not meet Ilsa's same fate. "Uncle Lamb loved old movies," she offered by way of explanation, looking up at him once more. "You've...seen Casablanca, right?"

"Ah, no, that I have not," he answered, tightening his grasp on her as she tried to pull away, doubtlessly to criticize what she thought was his terrible taste in movies. She gave up all to easily, softening back into his embrace, though she tugged roughly on a curl at the nape of his neck.

"Don't quote movies you haven't seen, fool."  


"Never again, cross my heart." Jamie chuckled, and she could feel it right against her cheek, rumbling under the sculpted muscle of his chest. 

They were quiet then, the only sound in the kitchen the whir of the fan above the stove as Jamie began to sway. It took Claire, who could have melted happily in his arms, a while to realize that they were dancing. They had never done that before, and somehow it felt more intimate than anything they had shared, than even taking him inside her body or the feel of his seed dripping surreptitiously down her inner thigh at her birthday party. Even as their hips began to undulate together, it retained the innocence of new love, of two people finally finding each other the way they were meant to, and she let one hand slip from the back of his neck to rest over the steady beat of his heart.  She wondered if it felt like hers, swelling so full in her chest that she worried it would shatter her ribcage. 

"I love you, Jamie," she murmured as his hand came to rest over hers, grasping it lovingly. She squeezed back, and leaned in to nuzzle the tip of her nose against his pinkie. Jamie sighed happily in agreement, his thumb caressing her lower back through his shirt. 

"I want ye here always, like this, with me," he said after a moment, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was Claire's turn then to offer her wordless concurrence, coming in the form of a low hum and a kiss pressed to the line of his jaw, soft and lingering. 

"I suppose we ought tae talk about...exactly how we're tae make that happen."  


Claire sighed and held him closer for support, though she knew he was right. Tonight had been so easy, after the fight blew over and they gave in to the truth between them. Her hesitation had melted away with each kiss and caress, and Jamie's perfect, loving, _forgiving_ words. Those always came easier to him, it seemed. A moment of rightness in a stormy sea, because she was sharing it, and herself, piece by piece, with him. But this was just the eye of the hurricane, the placid, sweet calm before what was to come. 

"I...fantasized about this, so many times," she admitted quietly, still buried in his chest. If she just stayed there everything would be alright; it had to be. "I thought about telling you everything, telling you how much I loved you...and you, holding me, and kissing me again. You are—the greatest comfort I have ever known. But it always stopped here."

Jamie could feel her pulling away emotionally, the weight of reality creeping back in between them, and squeezed her tighter, caressing her back and bringing her hand to his lips. He let them linger there on her knuckles for a long time, hoping that if he was her greatest comfort, as she said he was, he could override the worry.

"Dinna go away," he pleaded, placing her hand back on his chest, just over the beat of his heart. 

_Just feel that, Sassenach. Feel the way it beats for ye, stay here with me._

"I won't," she promised, though her eyes looked weary when they met his. "Please don't let me. Can we eat first? And then we'll talk?"

She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the smell of Jamie's pasta sauce began wafting up from the stove, but he was right—she'd been too lovesick to stomach much of anything at dinner that night, or in the weeks leading up, really. Sustenance would do her well. 

Jamie nodded, and took her with him by the hand to fix them up a bowl to share. She hovered close to him the whole time, anticipating his movements like a shadow. He was grateful for it—if she was anything like him, the closer she stayed the less everything hurt, the safer they both were. With fresh parmesan grated over the top and one fork poking over the side, Jamie reached for her hand once more and brought it to his lips.

"Bed?"

"Please."  


**J** amie slid in after Claire and pulled the covers up around them, reaching for the bowl of pasta from the bedside table before he settled himself back against the pillows and opened his arm to her. Careful not to jostle the food, Claire snuggled herself into his side like a rabbit in a burrow, pulling his arm further around her shoulder so his hand could rest warm and heavy in the center of her chest. They ate mostly in easy silence, interspersed with a kiss here or a contented hum there, and every once in a while an unprompted _I love you,_ as if making up for lost time. Claire could feel her eyelids growing heavy, her breathing slow and even as she finished her share of the pasta—how blissful it would be to simply let herself fall asleep, safe in Jamie's embrace, and wake up to that same beautiful face in the morning. It was more than a little temping, but she'd told him they would talk, and at the very least she owed him that. She wanted to give him so much more—her entire life, laid willingly at his feet—but for now, her heart and a talk would have to suffice. 

"Frank and I have been separated for—a while, now. I was going to leave him already, even if..." she trailed off, not wanting to even speak aloud that awful almost reality. _Even if we never got back together_. How execrable that would be, to deny either of them this kind of love. That seemed to be against nature itself. 

"Ye dinna have tae explain yerself tae me, Claire. No' about that," Jamie assured her softly. He wished, of course, that they didn't have to deal with such a hurdle before they could be together, but it was hardly his place to shame Claire or be upset with her about it. They were in the wrong, technically speaking, that wasn't up for debate—not that he harbored a single regret. He would do it all again, would commit far more grievous sins, if it was her he was fighting for. 

"I—I don't know—I want to. I need you to know that you are all there is for me, and you have been for....for a long time. I'm sorry I made you wait for me to catch up." She looked sideways at him with a melancholy kind of smile, but in Jamie's eyes she could see that he harbored no ill will, no anger or upset about the fact. He looked at her like one would look at something hallowed, and Claire couldn't help the heat that climbed up her neck and settled into the apples of her cheeks. She could never have imagined feeling so _completely_ loved. 

"I'd wait longer if I had to." He turned his head and nuzzled her curls, his eyes slipping shut to more fully savor the scent of violets and herbs that he once thought he would never know again. Women like Claire, who always smelled of flowers, nurtured gardens to blossom and kissed every time like it was the most precious, important thing in the world, were supposed to be a myth, invented by novelists and Hollywood movies. Yet here she was, soft and warm and perfectly curved to fit in his arms, eating his second-rate-at-best pasta as if it were Michelin starred, and loving him. That was the best part; it would _always_ be the best part. 

"I'd file the papers tomorrow if I could, but...I need his Visa. Mine is spousal, provided by the Historical Society, and if I'm no longer a spouse..."

"Ye'd be an ocean away," Jamie finished for her, sounding pained at the mere thought. His arm tightened around her and Claire reveled in their closeness, gratefully taking the strength he offered her. "I canna have that."

"No, I couldn't either," Claire replied, forcing her heavy limbs to move in service of being closer to him. She lifted the empty bowl from his lap and leaned to push it over the edge onto the bedside table, wincing a little at the clattering sound. She would have to get used to living with children, to being cautious and quiet in the nighttime hours so as not to disturb them, but it was a learning curve she would undertake joyously. They hadn't talked much about it, but the commitment she had offered tonight was just as much to them as it was to Jamie, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Nora and Fiona, unwittingly, had been so much a part of her own healing. They had brought her back to life with their toothless smiles and infectious joy, and they had brought her to their father. It didn't feel like a coincidence, nor was this merely the meeting and melding of two souls. From the very start, it had been the four of them. 

She could feel Jamie moving about as she rid them of the obstruent dining ware, and when she turned back she found he had tossed all but two pillows over the side of the bed and was now lying on his side looking up at her, arm open and waiting for her to crawl into. She did so happily, tangling their legs together and snuggling her front tight against his. Jamie wrapped his outside arm around her back as her hand came up to rest against his cheek, stroking the soft skin and stubble. 

"Better," Jamie burred, running the tip of his nose down the bridge of hers before he kissed her.

Claire hummed in agreement. Holding him like this, and being held in return, the burdens they carried felt so much lighter.

"If I pass my licensing exam in—"

" _If_ ," Jamie mocked with a snort, and rolled his eyes at her. She laughed, the sound like a bow on his heartstrings, making his very soul sing. What he wouldn't do to make this woman laugh.

"Yes, _if_ ," Claire replied, brows raised. "They take these things very seriously in this country, it's a difficult test. But, provided that I pass in March—" _God_ , to think about what would happen if she didn't. It was very possible she wouldn't, but it hardly felt like an option with everything that was now riding on that one test—"I'll be applying to residency programs, and I can stipulate on my applications that I'll need to be sponsored for a Visa. I'm—I'm a good doctor, with an impressive track record, and references, so—I don't think that will be much of a problem. I'm sorry, that sounded so—"  


"I like it when ye talk that way about yourself," Jamie interrupted her, though his voice was soft, settled low in his belly, and full of adoration. "Like ye ken just how incredible you are. Because ye are, an _incredible_ woman, Claire."

Her cheeks flushed pink and Claire averted her gaze, a little smile tugging at her lips, and Jamie couldn't help but lean in and kiss her again. She really had no idea, did she, how absolutely magnificent she was. Maybe, with the next forty or fifty years stretched out before them, he'd be able to convince her someday. 

"Were you invented by a romance novelist or something? Be honest," she teased, blinking slowly as she returned to herself after a long and languid kiss that left her feeling a little like Jell-O and breathing harder than before. 

"No ma'am, just a plain old run of the mill man, madly love with ye. Tis all."

Claire narrowed her eyes and looked at him for a long moment, smirking a little. 

"I'm not convinced, but we can discuss that later," she said finally.

Silence stretched between them, and eventually Claire spoke again.

"So, back to...essentially, I'm stuck. I have to be legally married to Frank to stay here, until I can secure a Visa elsewhere. There's no easy way for me to get a Visa until I pass my licensing exam—I wonder if there is an earlier test date that I could switch to...I'll look into that."

Silence again, and Claire began to get a little nervous. Though the gentle caress of Jamie's thumb over the rise of her hip was just as loving as every other way he had touched her that night—the entire time they had known each other, really—there was something about him that seemed far away. Twice, he opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it quickly, his eyes set just over her shoulder. The third time, Claire began to get well and truly scared and though she didn't want to pressure him she _desperately_ needed him to say something. When the silence became too much she broke it, tentatively, her voice small.

"You can say anything to me, Jamie; _please_. If this—if it's all too much, the waiting, the uncertainty, me—still married to Frank, that's not—I—you have to do—"

She was starting to ramble, her stomach sinking as she faced the prospect of losing him all over again. She was asking so much of him, what if it was too much? Her obvious and rising panic pulled Jamie back from wherever he had been, and he hushed her with soothing Gaelic, his hand cupping the back of her head and guiding it to rest just below his chin.

"Dinna fash, lass, dinna fash. Nothing would be too much, so long as yer waitin' for me on the other end. _Nothing_ , I swear to ye. Tis only—it's a bit mad, but...weel, I'm a citizen...ye could marry me."

That rendered Claire well and truly speechless, and she jerked her head back from his chest and stared at him with wide, almost disbelieving eyes. Jamie looked adorably bashful, and Claire could have wept at the gesture. How could she _ever_ have doubted how deeply he cared for her? 

"Jamie," she breathed, stroking from his temple to his jaw as though she was worried he would disappear in a puff of smoke, far too good to be true. Thank God he didn't. "I _love_ you, for offering that, but that—I don't think it would work. Not the way we'd want it to, at least. We'd have to jump in to everything, with immigration in our hair, have a real wedding, and move in together, all that."

When she saw the hurt and confusion in his sweet blue eyes, she realized that hadn't come out at _all_ as she'd intended.

"It's not that I don't want that," she added quickly, imploring him to stay with her, to understand what she meant. "If it were just the two of us—I'd do it. In a heartbeat. But Fiona and Nora—that would be so much change for them in such a short time, and they're so young, I don't think it would...I don't know that that's the best way to go about things, for their sake. I mean, they _know_ Frank, they know that he's my husband...I imagine it would all be very confusing for them. Oh, god. Am I—am I overstepping? I hope I'm not—I didn't mean—"

"Would ye stop with that?" Jamie cut her off, though his voice was infused with tenderness as he held her gaze. "Of course yer no' overstepping. I love ye even more, for thinkin' of them like that. Ye'll be such a good mom tae them, Claire. Ye already are, really. Tis one of the first things that made me fall in love with ye—I watched ye fall in love wi' them, and they with ye, and I couldna help but think that mebbe ye were meant tae be ours."

Claire sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, fighting to control her breath as her eyes stung hot with tears unexpected tears. 

"Do you—really?"

"Of course. I've seldom looked at the three of ye together and no' thought that _that's_ where ye belong. I canna think of a single thing in the world that would make the lasses happier—in good time though, yer right. If we explain everythin' tae them, and give them space to ask their questions and understand what's happened."

Blinking back tears, Claire buried herself in his neck once more, clinging tight as she pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

"How do you manage to say such beautiful things all the time?" she wondered aloud, a little hitch in her voice as she sucked in a much needed breath. 

"Just love," Jamie answered, simple and honest, working his hand beneath the shirt to stroke the bare skin of her back. "Can I tell ye a secret?"

"Yes," she breathed, kissing gently up the front of his neck til she reached his chin and then snuggling back against him. She was no longer quite so worried that she didn't deserve to be loved like this, by him. The divinity of it all seemed far bigger than the two of them, and though she didn't really believe in God something told her she ought to give up on holding so tight to all the reasons she wasn't worthy. Jamie seemed terribly certain that she was.

"Ye looked so bonnie, holdin' the wee ones in yer arms tonight. Nearly drove me mad," he murmured, his hand finding its way beneath the blue button up to rest flat against her stomach. "I had this picture in my mind, so clear I could almost touch ye, cradlin' _our_ bairn in yer arms. I'd like a wee Fraser wi' big brown curls, don't ye think? And seein' ye grow full wi' my child just beneath yer heart."

Claire choked back a sob and it was clearly not due to the same joy Jamie felt when he thought about growing their family together, but when he tried to maneuver her to look in her eyes she fought him. He gave up, not wanting to pressure her into something she didn't want, or wasn't ready for, and held her close against his chest. 

"What is is, my luaidh?" he asked somewhat urgently, his hand coming up to stroke her curls. With her dark locks tucked behind her ear he caught a glimpse of the anguish on her face, reddened from the effort to keep from crying, and he ghosted his lips over her temple. 

"Jamie, I can't—oh, I should have told you before... _all this_. I...don't think I can have children, Jamie. I'm sorry." He could feel the effort it took to get those words out, her small body hard and tense against him. He felt like such a fool, making what he now realized was a massive assumption. "I got so caught up I didn't even think about it, I let you—if this changes things, I—I understand. You are a magnificent father, and you _should_ have more children, and—and I can't give you that."

"I told ye that nothin' could make me love you any less, and I meant it. If ye canna, that doesn't change a thing for me. I should have—that was presumptive of me, tae even think that ye _wanted_ more children. _I'm_ sorry, lass. Please, dinna cry, it breaks my heart."

Claire sniffled, though she didn't make any move to come out of hiding. 

"I _do_ , that's—that's the worst part. When Frank and I were trying it wasn't...it was sort of just the logical next step. But then I met you, and the girls, and...I thought about you, like that, about having a baby with you. I'd never wanted it that badly before." 

"Gettin' pregnant is hardly the only way tae have a family," Jamie reminded her softly, easing the top of his body away from her just enough to finally met her eyes. She looked hurting and hopeful. "If that's somethin' ye want, there are so many ways tae go about it."

"Are you sure?" she asked softly, and took in a shuddering breath. 

Jamie answered her wordlessly, stroking her cheek as he leaned in and pressed their lips together. It took a moment, but finally Claire kissed him back, her body softening into his embrace, and Jamie reached between them once more to release her from the blue button up. It wasn't overtly sexual, fueled merely by the desire to be closer. Claire could sense it in his unhurried motions, and reached down to work on the buttons at the bottom. They met in the middle and Claire grasped his hand tight in hers, bringing it up to ghost her lips over his knuckles.

"I love you," she murmured, her voice muffled by his hand, and kissed him again. "I'm lucky you love me." She released him only to sit up and shed the button down, and smiled when she found Jamie beside her, pinching the grey fabric of his t-shirt at the nape of his neck and yanking if off. He leaned over, hands in his lap, and planted a quick kiss on her waiting lips before dropping his forehead to rest against hers.

"I do love ye," he murmured, watching her closed lids intently. The flutter of her lashes against her cheek, the little crinkles around her eyes, were just as mesmerizing as the glowing whiskey orbs they concealed. Eager to feel her skin against his once more, he left her with a kiss on the tip of her nose and laid down again, shimmying his boxers and—Claire noted with a smirk—kicking them down to the end of the bed beneath the sheets. Claire wriggled downwards, swiping her leg about until she found them, and pinched them between her toes. Bending her leg, she reached beneath the covers and grabbed them, pulling them out victoriously and dangling them over his face.

"I won't stand for this in _my_ bed, you bachelor," she teased with a grin, and tossed them onto the floor. Jamie pulled her down into his arms and Claire put up no fuss, absently stroking his chest as he snuggled her in closer.

"Dually noted," he chuckled, though he pinched her arse for good measure. Claire gasped at the unexpected touch, and felt a flush spreading through her body. Perhaps she'd been a bit silly to think that they could both get naked and remain innocent, but when Jamie's big hand palmed the tingling skin and gave it a gentle squeeze, she found she didn't mind at all. They had weeks and weeks to make up for, after all. As he brought his other hand up to cup her breast though, she stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist.

"So we—we have something of a plan, then? And it's alright with you?" she asked, not wanting to leave any of that uncertain before they moved on from the subject. 

"Aye, tis," Jamie answered, easing his hand out of her grasp and holding her by the jaw. He kissed her slowly, tongue teasing her lips open as her breath began to quicken, her body growing hot in his arms. "I never thought God would give me another woman to share my bed," he added in a low hum, wiggling down a bit so he could drag his lips down the length of her neck. "And certainly no' one so easy to love."

"God, you really are a _God_ person, aren't you?" Claire huffed out a breathy laugh, her fingers finding their way into his curls as he mouthed the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She knew they went to church, but every once in a while a comment like that would pique her attention—she'd never been close with anyone else who talked about God quite like he did, like he had some longstanding personal relationship with Him. 

"I am." His unabashed answer was muffled by her skin as he continued along, peppering the sensitive skin with nibbles and sloppy kisses, though eventually he popped back up to meet her eyes. "I ken it's a little— _old_ , I suppose. And the Catholic church is certainly...weel, let's say I dinna grace them wi' my donations any longer. But that's all earthly, ye ken? God's sae much more. And I _ken_ he delivered me right tae yer doorstep for good reason."

"That's—kind of beautiful," Claire mused, her cheeks pink. 

"I think so," Jamie replied, smoothing his hand along her side with just enough pressure that it didn't tickle. "Yer certainly well worth all the sin. And ye've inspired me tae no few, Sassenach," he added with a smirk and a well placed pinch to the front of her thigh that made her jerk against him. 

"Sorry for the fall from grace," she purred in return, running her hand over his chest.

"Och, I'm no' sae worried about all that," Jamie answered, skimming his fingertips over the tops of her breasts. "Though I _do_ covet my neighbor's wife."

Claire couldn't help but laugh, though when she met his eyes the heat in his gaze was enough to stop her in her tracks.

"I covet her lovely brown curls, slipping between my fingers and tickling my nose when I hold her." He ran a gentle hand through her curls while the other remained on the small of her back, holding her close. 

"Rather a dull color, brown, I've always thought," Claire murmured, though when he cupped her cheek she nuzzled happily into his touch. 

"No, no, not dull at all," Jamie replied quickly, taken aback that she would say such a thing. "It's like...the water in a burn—the way it ruffles off the rocks. Dark in the wavy spots, with wee bits of auburn when the sun touches it." 

He grasped the end of one curl and tugged gently, watching, mesmerized, as it sprung back into place. 

"They bounce just like her fat arse," he added with an almost wink, "and _Christ_ do I covet that." 

Claire squeaked when he reached behind her and squeezed her _fat arse_ none too gently, her breath coming faster as she realized just what a seduction he seemed to have in store for her. 

"And her strong, small hands, healin' me wi' but a single touch." He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip in turn before he turned his attention to her palm. He dragged his tongue from the base to the center and then pressed a wet kiss there. Claire felt wobbly and pliable, grateful that they were laying down. If not, she was certain her knees would have buckled right out from under her.  Still holding her hand up to his mouth, Jamie spoke again, his eyes boring into hers. 

"And they look sae bonnie, sae soft and silky when she wraps them round my cock." He sunk his teeth into the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb before he released her hand and she gasped, his coarse language a pleasant surprise that had blood rushing to her core. Her senses already verging on overdrive, torn between his lips and teeth wandering over her clavicle, the unrestrained lust in his eyes and the feeling of his cock growing hard against her thigh, a promise of what was to come, once he'd had his way teasing her. 

"I covet her breasts, pressed against my chest when I hold her, and sae soft tae lay upon when she holds me." His eyes stayed locked on hers as he scooted further down the bed, taking the covers with him so her top half was bared completely. Her nipples, already pebbled from his attentions, puckered further with the chill, and Jamie wasted no time. He cupped one breast in the v of his hand and ghosted his lips over its wanting peak, teasing her with featherlight kisses and licks until she moaned from low and deep in her belly. Not taking his eyes off hers, he pressed his finger to her lips, a reminder the keep herself quiet, and closed his lips over her nipple, sucking intently as she squirmed against him. He lavished her with attention that had her almost blind with pleasure, her core growing wetter with each deliciously painful tug of his teeth and soothing swirl of his tongue. When she tried to curl in on him, though, to keep him there, Jamie caught her by the wrist and forced her onto her back, fixing his lips quickly to her other breast to give it the same treatment. After a moment, confident that she wouldn't try anything, he released her arm and began to flick and twist the now neglected nipple, reveling in little gasps that caught in her throat. 

Jamie had lost himself joyously to pleasuring her, his eyes slipping shut as he suckled, and when he released her breast with a soft _pop_ he found her looking absolutely drunk with lust. Her eyes were open, intent on him, but with that dazed look that drove him mad, her lips falling open now that she wasn't in danger of crying out so she could catch her breath.

"Mmm, and I covet the noises she makes, just for me, when I suck on them," he added huskily, moving back up the bed to capture her lips. She kissed him in that slow, gooey way she did when she was already heavy with hedonism, her tongue flicking deep in his mouth as she greedily swallowed the low groans that came from deep in his belly. When he pulled back, he noticed that she'd brought her own hand up to replace his, playing with her nipples much harder than he had.

"Is that how ye need it, lass?" he hummed, mesmerized by her movements and the way her body responded, her hips rolling with increasing desperation against nothing.

Claire whined out a desperate _yes,_ her eyes popping open when she felt the bed shifting. Jamie spread her legs and kneeled between them, batting her hand out of the way to imitate the way she had touched herself. He pinched and twisted roughly, his eyes trained on hers to watch her reaction. She didn't disappoint—she _never_ disappointed—and Jamie felt his cock straining for her, so achingly close. 

"Ye ken what else I _covet_?" he asked darkly, releasing her nipples with one final tug and fisting himself in hand. He pumped a few times, watching Claire watch him with jet black eyes. 

"What?" she asked breathlessly when he didn't continue, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"I covet her snug wee cunt," Jamie growled, finally drawing his tip through her slit, slicking himself in her slippery wetness, "sliding over my cock and making me feel like God himself." Looking absolutely wicked, he positioned himself at her entrance and began to press inside, stopping at just the tip, much to Claire's annoyance. She tried to wiggle her hips against him, to take him deeper, but Jamie wouldn't allow for it, not yet. 

"How would ye like yer reward, wee noise maker?" he asked with a glint in his eye, rather enjoying her struggle. 

" _Hard,_ " Claire snarled, and Jamie gladly thrust himself home. 

**B** reathing so hard it was almost a wheeze, Jamie collapsed against her chest, his softening member slipping out as Claire wrapped her arms around his back. It was harder to catch her breath this way, with his weight pressing down on her, but she didn't care. Not when it meant he could stay so close. His head rose and fell with her chest, his hair tickling her chin, and if she could have moved she would have pressed her lips into those sweaty curls each time they came close enough. But she was well and truly spent, and contented herself just to hold him. The room smelled heady, like sex, like _them._

"I didna think ye could truly stay quiet, wi' me usin' ye like that," Jamie marveled as he rolled off of her, lying like a starfish beneath the fan. 

"I can be good when I _need_ to be," Claire hummed in return, enjoying the cool air for only a moment before she found herself rolling lazily back into his arms. 

" _Verra_ good," Jamie teased, wrapping his arm around her as she settled against his chest. 

They were quiet for awhile, letting their breathing return to normal and the final tingles of orgasm fizz out in their veins. There was no stroking or caressing, or even lazy kisses—both were far too consumed for such things. Merely being together, bathing in that post-sex glow of completion and togetherness, was more than enough.

When Jamie did speak, his voice was low and sleepy.

"Will ye stay the night?"

"I can't, Jamie, you know that," Claire replied, though she desperately wished that the answer could be different.

"Why no'? Yer home alone. I'll wake ye long before the lasses are up. Please?"

"What if one of them wakes in the middle of the night?" 

"We can lock the door."

At that, Claire lifted her head just enough to press her lips to his, chaste and lingering, and stroked his cheek with one finger.

"You must be so in love with me it makes you foolish," she murmured, her eyes crinkling as she smiled softly. "What would happen, if one of them _does_ wake up, and they come running down the hallway to get their Daddy to make everything better, and his door is locked? They'd be so frightened, in the big, dark hallway all alone."

"Aye, yer right. I'm no' _happy_ about it, mind ye, but I canna argue with ye. And how dare ye! Usin' my own weakness against me."

"What weakness is that? So far as I've been able to observe, you're _very_ strong."

Jamie tried to glare at her, but the little smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

"Ye lovin' my daughters," he replied tenderly, eyes softening as he watched her melt. 

**W** hen the time did come that Claire had to leave, Jamie zipped her back into the blue dress and pressed his lips where her neck and spine met. He walked her to the back door, her hand tight in his, but when she made to pull away he followed, catching her hand once more and pulling her back to him. Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close, her forehead resting on his shoulder. 

"I don't want to leave either," she whispered, sensing just how badly Jamie wanted her to stay. 

"Can I—walk ye tae yer door?" He felt a little silly asking, but the prospect of parting from her had his stomach in knots. What if she didn't come back? 

"I'd like that." She kissed his cheek before she pulled away, her lips firm and smooth against his growing beard. 

Jamie grasped her hand in both of his as they made their way silently across the yard, crickets singing around them as the moon hung fat and heavy in the sky. 

"Someday we'll stop meeting like this," Claire joked, and attempt to lighten the mood between them that didn't _quite_ work. Jamie laughed, and squeezed her hands, but there was still a desperation in his touch that broke her heart. 

When they arrived at her back door, Jamie turned and threw his arms around her waist, burying his face in his curls. He held her tighter than usual, and as she wrapped herself around him she could feel his belly heaving with labored breaths. 

"I'm coming back," she whispered fiercely as she eased him off her shoulder and held his face in her hands. He looked about to cry, and she kissed him with all the tender comfort she had to give. "I'm coming back. I love you."

"Aye," Jamie nodded, blinking away the touch of wetness in his eyes. "Aye, I love ye, too."

"I'll see you tomorrow, and I'm going to kiss you dizzy the second I get the chance. Goodnight, Jamie."

He smiled then, and the relief that flooded Claire's system almost knocked her off her feet. 

"Sweet dreams, my own. I love ye."

" _Tomorrow_ ," Claire murmured, one final promise before she turned to unlock the door. "I love you."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, lines borrowed from the show or book are just that, borrowed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! Your patience, kindness and support as I worked this chapter out was truly mind boggling. I'm so thankful for this fandom and my absolutely wonderful readers - as a side note, you can also find me on twitter now, @sssnchthrutime. Come yell with me about this fic or other fics or Caitriona Balfe's existence! I'm here for it all.   
> I'm also so so excited to finally debut Susan's gorgeous moodboard for this fic! Check it out on the bird app or tumblr. And an extra special shout out to Susan and Ness, my fantastic new beta's who are just the best and have already made this story (and my life) a million times better. Happy reading!

**J** amie woke that morning reaching for Claire beside him, crestfallen when he found emptiness in the place she'd lain just hours ago. She had been right to leave, and the fact that it was for the sake of his daughters only made him love her more, but that was hardly enough to negate how badly he wanted her there. He imagined she looked bonnie in the morning, with sleepy eyes and wild curls that would tickle his face when he pulled her close. 

When it occurred to him that the house was still quiet, he settled back in beneath the covers, content to luxuriate in the memory of her until his attention was demanded elsewhere. Their hours together still felt a little like a dream, touched with a rosy pink high that buzzed within him. He had thought that he would never know that feeling again, the warmth that spread outward from his chest when she smiled at him or nuzzled into his embrace. Worse than that, he had convinced himself that he could live without it, but he knew now that that had been a lie. One can't live without their heart.

Thank God he could stop trying. 

He thought of her, on the other side of the wrought iron fence, waking alone in her too-big house. Did she reach for him, too, in that space between sleeping and waking? It struck him as fundamentally wrong, that a woman so deserving of love, and with so much of it to give, should ever be alone. She was so close, it would take all of three minutes to scoop her up and bring her back home where she belonged, but while God had gifted him with love, He had not seen fit to gift him with ease. There was so much at play that required planning, and patience, before they could truly be together. It wasn't liable to get easier as time drew on, but it would all be so worth it when the end did come.

Still aching for some kind of connection with Claire, tangible proof that the previous night wasn't a figment of his imagination, Jamie took his phone off the bedside table and scrolled down to find their text thread. The sight of their last messages sent a pang of sadness through his chest. They had been sent on Halloween, nearly a month ago, when he was still sleepless with missing her. All that time lost, and through no fault of their own. But before he could get angry—that, he would save for later—he reminded himself that amongst all the precious things Claire had given him was time. Time to wait, and keep loving her from afar, yes, but after that, time unending, to make up for what they had lost. 

He typed out a text— _ Good morning, I love you❤️ _ — but hesitated as his thumb hovered over the send button. Was it too much, too needy? Despite the fierceness with which she had loved him the night before, her gentle reassurance that he didn't need to worry about what the morning would bring, a dark little corner of his mind wondered if it had all been too good to be true. 

A little bubble with three dots popped up almost as soon as he had sent it and washed away all of those worries. 

_ Good morning, my love. I was just thinking about you. What are my three favorite people getting up to today? _

_ My three favorite people  _ tickled inside Jamie's chest like butterfly wings. 

_ Come over for a cuppa and I'll tell you. The lasses are still sleeping. _

_ See you in ten _ 😘

Claire arrived in closer to five, looking fresh faced and adorably sloppy in an oversized sweater, leggings, and bare feet when she stepped through the back door. Having heard the latch on the gate between their yards creaking, Jamie knew to expect her, but seeing her there still stopped his heart for just a moment. She had never just walked in like that, without knocking.

"Good morning," she murmured, a soft smile gracing her lips as she came round the counter to meet him. Her arms found their way around his middle with ease as she stretched up to find his lips, a hum of content falling between them as Jamie grasped at the small of her back.

Feeling her there, small and warm in his arms, he heaved out a sigh he didn’t know he’d been holding and clutched her tighter. 

“Ye didna change yer mind,” he marveled quietly when they broke apart, his bright blue eyes still touched with disbelief as he looked down at her. 

The inner corners of Claire’s brows lifted and pinched slightly as she reached up and smoothed her hands over his cheeks, holding him there to look at her. She kissed him again, unhurriedly this time, her eyes open and piercing into his. Slowly, she watched as genuine relief crept in; the grin returned little by little until she could feel him beaming against her lips, and see it in the slight crinkle of his eyes. 

_ He had truly been worried she would. _

"Wild horses couldn’t keep me away," she murmured, and kissed him once more for good measure before she encircled him in her arms and laid her cheek against the steady tattoo of his heart. Jamie's lips dropped to the crown of her head, and she nuzzled against his chest, flooded with such satisfaction that she could have floated right off with the breeze. 

"I think it might save us quite a bit of time and anxiety if we stop all this doubt," she said after a moment, laughing quietly as her eyes flicked up to meet his. 

"Aye, I think yer right. Tis simply hard tae believe the woman of my dreams loves me back, ken?" 

Jamie slipped out of her arms to the whistle of the teapot, leaving her with a final press of his lips to her forehead.

"I do  _ ken  _ the feeling," Claire echoed, taking the proffered mug and following him out onto the deck. She went to sit on the couch opposite him but a  _ tsk _ stopped her in her tracks as Jamie gestured her toward him with a flick of his head. 

"None of that, mo nighean donn," he said, his voice warm and inviting as a quilt fresh from the dryer. He opened his arm to her, and after only a moment’s hesitation Claire tucked herself into his side, careful not to spill.

"Canna have ye so far, I'll miss ye too badly. Tis early, no one's out. Have ye told Geillis yet?"

Claire's eyes grew comically wide at that, and Jamie couldn’t help but laugh. 

"I don't—what do you mean?" 

"Oh please, dinna tell me she doesn't know about all this," he retorted, shooting her a sideways glance and giving her shoulder a little squeeze. "Tis alright, I’m no' upset about it."

"I only told her after...I couldn't just—I needed someone on my side, needed to... _put_ that all somewhere. I haven't called her about _this_ yet, though. I've no doubt she'll be terribly excited when I do, I think she was secretly rooting for you the whole time."

Claire smiled to herself, knowing full well that her friend would demand a wine night and full details of their reunion when she broke the news. She'd always gotten the sense that Geillis thought Jamie was much better for her than Frank, and she’d been right. Frank had been wonderful, once, though in looking back Claire couldn't help but wonder how much of it was him and how much of it was her age and inexperience. There had been no one before Frank, not really. She had been drifting on a whim and that worked, for a time. It had been great fun in many ways, too, traveling the world with Uncle Lamb, experiencing a veritable lifetime’s worth of adventure before she could even drive a car (legally, anyway). By the time she arrived at Oxford, though, a craving had begun to blossom in her gut, for a home, and someone to tether her to it. Frank had come at just the right time. 

"Wise woman," Jamie remarked, nuzzling his cheek against her sleep-mussed curls. Having her there felt so natural, sitting by his side as the sun rose and the girls slept upstairs. After such a late night, he figured he'd get Claire to himself for a good long while before they were up, and he intended to drink in every second of it. 

"D'ye like the beach, Sassenach?" 

"I do. Why do you ask?" 

"Tis only, Jenny, Ian, and the weans are comin' in a bit and we're gonna spend the day at Sullivan's Island. I thought—mebbe ye'd like tae come with us?" 

Jamie looked terribly endearing, not unlike a secondary student asking his crush to prom, and Claire couldn't bite back the smile that spread across her lips. 

"Asking me to spend a  _ day  _ with the family! You move fast, Fraser," she teased, taking a sip of her tea now that it had cooled enough. "Damn, you make a good cuppa, too. I just might have to marry you sometime, keep you to myself."

"Ye wouldna have tae marry me tae do that," Jamie replied, his hand smoothing up and down her arm as he held her tight to him, "but all the same, I hope ye will. I'd be lyin' if I said I hadna thought of ye in a white dress, walkin' o'er flower petals on yer way tae me."

Claire's breath caught in her chest and she flushed pink, biting back a grin as she stared down at the mug in her lap. She’d thought about coming home to him at the end of a long day, about vacations together, putting the girls to bed, and what his sleepy eyes would look like first thing in the morning, yet she’d never allowed herself to think of a wedding. Not so explicitly as that, anyway; but the image in her mind of Jamie, waiting for her at the end of an aisle, was irresistibly exciting. 

She and Frank had opted not to have a wedding. At twenty-two it had felt rebellious and intimate, to walk hand in hand down to the courthouse, with a passing stranger to play witness. She hadn't thought twice about it in the sixteen years since, but something about a real wedding, with a white gown and a celebration and  _ Jamie _ , made her heart flutter. 

She didn't say anything, only leaned up to press her lips to Jamie's with crushing force, pouring into that meeting of sensitive, yielding flesh all the feelings swimming behind her ribs. His tongue darted out to flick against hers and she caught it between her lips, sucking until he groaned and pulled it away to sink his teeth into her bottom lip. He tugged and she whimpered, mindless to the sloshing of her tea as she reached up with her free hand to play with his scruff. The man could  _ kiss _ , and despite the growing kink that was spreading from her neck down into her left shoulder, she simply couldn't bring herself to pull away. She tried to guide them back a little so she could rest her head against his shoulder and hopefully relieve at least a little discomfort. It worked, though not in the way she had expected. In that position, her neck stretched and bared to him, and Jamie rendered the ache all but forgotten when he trailed his lips from her jaw down to the newly revealed skin. He kissed all the same spots they both loved, but even then he kept her on her toes, her breath coming faster as the familiar flutter began deep in her belly. 

After a particularly lusty moan rang through the yard Jamie softened, easing her back with a few gentle kisses before tucking his head in the crook of her neck and resting there. Claire wanted badly to set her mug on the table so she could hold him fully in her arms, but that would require moving from where she was now, and that she was simply unwilling to do. She settled for taking his free hand in hers and giving it an affectionate squeeze, running her thumb over the fuzzy skin on the back of his hand. Jamie squeezed back, and she could feel his smile against her skin. 

"I'd love to go to the beach with you," she murmured so as not to disrupt the moment. She wanted to question the wiseness of this particular idea—she worried that Jamie's own  _ sister  _ was liable to pick up on what was between them—but the thought of spending the day with the Fraser-Murray's was far too appealing to let responsibility win out. She'd never had a family like that, not even with Frank. He had living parents, of course, two brothers and a sister, nieces and nephews, but they didn't see them often, and when they did there was always something so formal about it. Claire had never felt entirely comfortable with them, but she imagined it would be different with Jamie's family. All those children running around was sure to bring a lightness to things, the kind of contagious joy she found whenever she was with Nora and Fiona. 

"Jenny liked ye quite a bit," Jamie said, raising his head to sip at his tea. "She's a tough one, I was a little surprised by how well ye got on last night. She'll be happy tae see ye, I'm sure. And the girls will be thrilled, of course."

As if on cue, they heard little feet pattering down the stairs inside, and Jamie reluctantly released Claire from his grasp so she could scoot away to a respectable distance that wouldn't raise any questions from the ever-observant Nora. 

"Daddy?" Fiona shouted from inside, and through the screen door, both Jamie and Claire could see the girls standing at the bottom of the stairway, clearly having expected to find their father in the kitchen. 

"Out here, a nigheans!" Jamie called back. 

The girls turned toward his voice and hurried over to slide the screen open, both sets of eyes growing wide with excitement when they were met with their unexpected visitor. Fiona, as usual, flung herself in Claire’s direction, heedless of the tea she held as she climbed up into her lap. Nora, however, remained rooted to the spot for a moment, staring at the two of them with a strange look in her eye. 

Though Claire’s attention had been stolen by Fiona—as was typical of the younger Fraser—Jamie watched his older daughter carefully, growing disconcerted the longer she looked between them. That girl was wise beyond her years, he knew, and he realized that ensuring that she didn’t pick up on too much of what was going on may very well become a full-time concern of theirs. 

“Nora, come say hi,” he said finally, beckoning her to the couch where she finally climbed into his lap.

“Hi Claire,” she said bashfully, finally giving in to the excitement of seeing both her father and their favorite neighbor together, waiting for them.

“Good morning, darling,” Claire replied with a sweet smile, reaching over to ruffle her wild curls. 

“We got dressed all by ourselves,” Fiona announced proudly. 

“I can see that!” Claire replied, quirking her brow as she noticed that the neck of the little girl’s shirt seemed to hit her at an odd angle. A quick tug revealed the tag brushing up against her collarbone, and Claire stifled a laugh.

“You did such a good job, but I  _ think  _ your shirt is on backwards. Would you like help fixing it?” she offered, glad that Fiona didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest when she lifted her arms up above her head, inviting Claire to switch it around. 

“When is Auntie Jenny coming?” Nora asked, rubbing her little palms over her father’s beard and giggling at the scratchy texture. He looked down to find a bare wrist, and caught Claire by surprise when he grasped her arm to check the time on her watch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She hoped the girls didn’t notice the touch of pink in her cheeks.

“In ninety minutes, so we ought tae get busy. We’ve gotta get breakfast in our bellies, get dressed,  _ and  _ fix snacks for everyone. Perhaps Claire would like tae have breakfast with us?” 

The girls were alight at the suggestion, though both Claire and Jamie could tell they were surprised he had offered. 

“I—of course,” Claire replied, reveling in how happy the girls seemed. It had been foolish of her to think that such sensitive, thoughtful little people wouldn’t notice the change in dynamic between herself and their father, and it was just as important to her to make up their lost time as it was her own with Jamie. 

“Pancakes?” Nora asked eagerly as she took Fiona by the hand and followed Jamie into the house. Claire trailed behind, her heart knotting itself up tight in her chest as she watched the three of them. It seemed far too good to be true, that this could one day be her family. But really, they already were. They had been for a long time; it was just a matter of when she’d finally have the courage to reach out and take it. Jamie glanced back at her, glowing with such happiness that she nearly lost her breath, and mouthed  _ I love you  _ before he set to work on the pancakes. 

Claire noticed their dishes from the night before still strewn about the kitchen, and couldn’t help the flush that crept up from her chest at the memory of the way he’d touched her as she sat on that very counter just hours ago. Should she disinfect it? She had been fairly certain that his shirt covered everything…

She set herself to clearing the dishes to the sink at least, to give Jamie more space to work. His hand landed on her lower back as he slipped past her to get something from the pantry and she shivered, catching him by the arm before he could get too far.

“Should I— _ disinfect the counter or something _ ?” she whispered, leaning in just enough that the girls couldn’t possibly overhear. 

Jamie choked a little, pressing his lips together as he shook with restrained laughter. Claire thumped him on the chest and shot him an expectant look.

“I dinna think ye— _ got anything  _ on the counter, but honestly the whole thing could use a wipe down if yer interested. Spray’s under the sink.” 

“I think I can make that happen,” she replied with a coy smile as he returned to his work. 

In no time at all, Jamie had whipped up pancakes for the four of them, complete with chocolate chips and whipped cream smiles. The girls were suitably distracted by a flowery coloring page, allowing the two of them to exchange glances heavy with meaning and soft smiles freely. It was so easy, moving through the kitchen together, anticipating each other and enjoying such a simple yet significant moment. When she returned the granite cleaning spray to the cabinet beneath the sink, she was reminded of Jamie’s comments the night before, that she’d live there someday and know exactly where all of their things went. 

_ Cleaning products go under the sink _ .

The only thing missing was touch. She wanted so badly to reach out, just to brush a hand along his arm or tuck away a curl that had fallen in his face. What she  _ really  _ wanted was to be able to kiss him, whenever she liked, in front of whoever may be present, but she could be patient. This was already the most wonderful morning she’d had in a long, long time.

“We’re takin’ our cousins tae the beach today!” Nora mumbled excitedly to Claire through a mouthful of pancake.

“I know! Your Daddy actually asked me to come with you, would that be all right with you two?”

Claire could have sworn it was Christmas morning based on the way the girls reacted. Their eyes grew big and they grinned from ear to ear, food forgotten as they wiggled excitedly in their chairs and hung off her like drapery. 

Jamie caught Claire’s eye over Nora’s head, the unfettered joy he found there rendering him unable to do anything but smile. After so many weeks of watching her from a distance, looking hollowed out and sad, seeing her happy was still a relief each and every time. 

“Come on, lasses, let’s get those pancakes finished sae we can be ready in time when yer Auntie gets here.”

The girls did as they were told, more or less, though with children eating was never terribly swift. They were so easily distracted, especially given the excitement about Claire joining them for the day, and the adults finished first. When Jamie rose to bring his plate to the sink Claire followed suit, shooting a quick glance in the girls’ direction before she sidled up beside him.

“Who said I didn’t want pancakes?” she teased under her breath as she handed him her plate of egg remnants to rinse. 

“If chocolate chip pancakes are yer heart’s desire, I’ll make ‘em for ye every morning,” Jamie replied, his fingers brushing hers as he took the plate. It sent a little thrill through him, and he could see in the smirk that Claire couldn't seem to secret away that she felt it, too. Suddenly, despite the time crunch and the girls behind them, the most pressing thing on his mind was getting her to himself. Not so he could slip his hand beneath the band of her leggings and listen to those luscious sounds of restraint she made, nor even to snog her with the heated enthusiasm of teenagers, simply to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her the way a husband would a wife, in front of a sinkful of dirty dishes, surrounded by the chaos that came with a home. Simple and sweet. 

But he forced himself to turn away, attending to the girls once more. As was usual after Saturday morning pancakes, they looked back at him with faces smeared with gooey chocolate—Fiona even had a smudge on her forehead. How that happened he didn’t quite know, but it made him smile nonetheless. Everyone—with the exception of his sister, who it seemed would have wee ones in the house until the end of her days—was always telling him how much he’d miss them being little, and in moments like this when he _could_ be vexed by the messes or the complete disrespect for any semblance of timeliness, he reminded himself of that sentiment. Someday they wouldn’t want Saturday morning pancakes. Someday they wouldn’t even be home on Saturday mornings; not with him, anyway. They were only little for such a short while, and his most precious life’s work was to enjoy those moments, now made all the more sweet by the promise of doing it all with Claire by his side.

“All right weans, go get yer faces washed and yer teeth brushed and let’s get ye dressed and ready for the day, aye? I’ll clean up the kitchen and meet ye upstairs.”

“Where is Claire going?” Fiona demanded as she slid haphazardly from her stool to the floor, landing with a small thud. 

“I’ll go to my house to get dressed and then I’ll meet you back here, okay?” Claire answered, her eyes flicking momentarily over to Jamie. She figured she’d be held up for at least a minute or two before she could set off, and she was looking forward to it. Seeming satisfied with that answer, the girls dropped off their plates at the sink and raced off up the stairs. 

He was on her the moment they were out of sight—slightly reckless, perhaps, but if the way she pressed herself to him and interlocked her hands behind his neck was any evidence, it was a chance Claire was more than willing to take. 

“I like this  _ verra _ much,” she whispered against his lips, pecking them through their smiles over and over as quietly as possible. Jamie only hummed in agreement, giving her sides a little squeeze as their foreheads rested together. They stole another moment like that before breaking apart, though Claire held his eyes. 

“Sticky chocolate hands didna scare ye away?” he asked with a chuckle, turning back to rinse off the remainder of the dishes.

“ _ Au contraire _ , I found them exceptionally charming. My life is far too clean at the moment, anyway.”

With the dishwasher right there in front of her, it only seemed natural to pull it open and start placing the rinsed dishes inside, so she did just that. Aware that Jamie had a particular affinity for her hindquarters, she may have bent  _ slightly  _ overdramatically. This didn’t go unnoticed by her intended audience, a wicked smile quirking up his lips as he slid into place behind her. Claire half gasped, half laughed as he pressed himself close, steadying her with one hand as he bent over her and reached into the dishwasher. 

“I think that’ll fit better over here,” he said matter of factly as he moved a bowl from one space to another. It was pointless, she knew, just an excuse to tease her, and as usual she gave as good as she got, leaning over further to move it back. 

“I really think it’s best where I had it,” she replied, looking over her shoulder with a cheeky smirk. She found Jamie blushing crimson, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he contemplated his next move. Claire beat him to the quick, pressing her hips back and giving them a little wiggle as she tossed her curls over one shoulder. 

“Careful lass, or I’ll no be responsible for what I do,” Jamie warned, rolling his hips once, sharply, into hers and groaning under his breath. 

“There are  _ children  _ upstairs, Mister Fraser,” Claire reminded him demurely, her lip-biting smirk hidden by a curtain of curls. 

“Aye, I ‘spose there are,” Jamie replied mildly, pulling her up with him as he rose and pressing his lips to her shoulder before he returned to the sink. Claire couldn’t help but notice the way he adjusted himself in his pants as he did so, a quiet sense of pride fluttering low in her belly. 

“I’ll get ye for it later, though,” he added as he handed her a small pink cup to put in the washer. 

“Daddyyyyy!” 

Claire jumped as Nora’s crystalline voice cut straight through from her room to the kitchen, and whacked Jamie on the flank when he snickered.

“I canna reach the swimsuits!”

“I’ll be up in a minute,” Jamie hollered back, looking a little sheepish as he turned his gaze back to Claire. “We’re loud here, hope ye dinna mind.”

“Not a bit,” she returned with a smile, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll go get my things together and meet you back here?” 

Jamie nodded his assent and she slipped out through the sliding door, looking back and offering a little waggle of her fingers. He watched her traipse through the grass for a moment, reminded of the last time he’d seen her walk away on that very path. It had been the night she left him, when she’d bolted from the house with tears in her eyes and his shattered heart in tow.

When Nora screeched at him once more, he pulled his eyes away from her retreating form, content in the knowledge that she would come back, and hustled upstairs, knowing that his wee ones tended towards a certain level of impatience. Perhaps it was something to do with his overly doting nature, but even so, that wasn’t going to change any time soon. As a single father, he felt even more of a responsibility to be there at the drop of a hat, making sure things were taken care of and the girls had what they needed (and, more often than not, wanted), and it brought him such joy to top it all off. 

“Nora can’t reach the swimsuits!” Fiona groaned, sulking out of their room to meet him in the hallway. 

“Dinna whine,” he reproached, shooting her a no-nonsense look. That was a penchant they could all do without. 

He noticed that there were still smudges of chocolate covering her small face, and after neglecting help, the littlest Fraser trudged off to the bathroom to wash her face a second time. 

In her room, Nora stood before the closet, looking expectant and slightly annoyed as she pointed up toward the fabric box full of her swimsuits, and though Jamie knew he should probably reprove the rudeness of the gesture, all he could do was stifle a laugh. 

“Where did Claire go?” she asked as Jamie took down both her and Fiona’s boxes and set them on the floor. 

“She’s gettin’ ready for the beach and then she’ll be back,” Jamie answered, watching as she tossed swimsuits on the floor around her in search of the perfect one. 

“She looks happy now,” the little girl added a moment later, her work slowing to a stop as she looked up at her father. She had a contemplative look about her, the one that passed over her features when she was trying to puzzle out grown-up matters. 

“Aye, she did seem verra happy this morning,” Jamie replied, biting back a prideful smirk at whatever hand he (and, frankly, his lovemaking) may have had in the matter. “I think she’s verra happy tae be spending the day with us, a leannan.”

“Mebbe she doesn’t need the fairy dust we made her anymore,” Nora pondered, sounding slightly disappointed that they might not get to present her with the gift.

“Och, I think ye should give it tae her anyway. I bet a present from her two favorite lasses would make her even happier.”

“You think we’re her favorite?” she asked after a moment, cheeks pink and eyes shining with delight. 

“I  _ know  _ you are,” Jamie answered truly, pleased by how clearly overjoyed his little girl was at the thought. 

“She’s  _ my  _ favorite,” Nora said softly, squirming happily where she sat, and the answering clench in Jamie’s chest nearly brought him to his knees. 

Not for the first time since the developments of the previous night, he thought about the day he and Claire would finally get to tell the girls they were together, and that one day Claire would never have to go away again. Not to get a swimsuit, not for bedtime, never. He hadn’t been lying when he told her that there wasn’t a single thing that would make them happier. He knew what loving Claire felt like, and he’d seen over and over in his daughter’s faces that they were just as taken as he. 

**A** fter shooting off a quick text to Geillis about getting together, Claire found herself staring with pinked cheeks at the bikini sitting at the top of her swimsuit drawer. It had been years since she’d worn one, a fact that Geillis saw fit to remedy as soon as she’d learned it. She’d dragged Claire to yet another boutique opening, snatching one piece after one piece from her hands and tutting something about how she was “too hot to be like this.” After trying on a few, with varying levels of skin revealed, Claire settled on the black bikini that managed to be generously cut without feeling inappropriate. She’d never really planned on wearing it, was certain that Frank would have a cutting remark or a raised brow at the very least, but something told her that a certain red-headed Scot might have a different opinion. In fact, she thought she’d rather enjoy seeing his face when she stripped off her sweater and jeans to go swimming. All that skin he praised so often revealed to him, and nothing he could do about it…

_This is a family day at the beach, not a seduction,_ she reminded herself as she gathered her beach supplies and tossed them into a large woven tote. Still, she couldn’t help but imagine the way his eyes might linger. Never in all of her life had she felt so completely, shamelessly wanted. It was intoxicating, to say the least, to know that she of all people could bring a man like that to his knees. Just as it was to know that it went so far beyond that, that he wanted _her_ , loved _her_ , for all that she was. 

Surprisingly, all three Frasers were dressed and ready downstairs by the time Claire returned. The girls stood on stools at the counter, each with a butter knife and a jar of peanut butter and jelly, respectively. Jamie stood between them, putting the sandwiches in what Claire noticed were the reusable equivalent of plastic bags. 

_ Of course the bloody man is eco-conscious, of course he is. _

__ Having gone unnoticed, she watched through the glass for a moment, playing voyeur on such a sweet moment. It was not unlike a dream, the image of the three of them. She’d never believed in perfection, but this...this was something else altogether. Something she’d never thought she could have. But when the feelings of inadequacy began to creep in, instead of shying away like she had done before she pulled open the door and stepped inside, basking in the three crooked smiles she was met with. Yes, she belonged right there. 


End file.
